


Dread Wolf Drabbles

by Little_Lotte



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 37,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Lotte/pseuds/Little_Lotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a dump site for all the Solavellan shorts I wrote because I am too lazy to make individual stories for them all. Mostly fluff with occasional bouts of angst. I will put a brief description at the top of each chapter. Some of these were writing prompts from Tumblr, so they might seem a little random theme-wise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Da'len

**Author's Note:**

> After some initial tension about "elfiiness", Solas and Aili come to an understanding.

It was an hour or so after dawn and Solas had just finished the unpleasant business of bathing himself with the icy water in his wash basin. He supposed he could have used his magic to make the water an acceptable temperature, but between the number of Templars milling about Haven and his already precarious position within the newly founded Inquisition, it was safer not to risk it. He had just pulled on his trousers and was digging around for his tunic when the little elf girl the humans had been calling 'The Herald of Andraste' burst into his cabin.

"Good morning, Solas," she chirped, plunking down on his bed and taking a noisy bite out of an apple she had no doubt swiped from the kitchens.

"Do you _mind_?" he hissed in indignation, finally unearthing his sweater and using it to cover himself, glowering at her all the while.

"What? Oh, not really," she smiled at him carelessly, her violet eyes moving over his exposed skin, as though just noticing his lack of attire. "I imagine you don't have much I haven't seen before, so it doesn't bother me."

Solas muttered something darkly under his breath, turning away from her and tugging his shirt over his head.

"Was that Elvhen?" she asked excitedly, leaning forward eagerly, putting her elbows up on the footboard of his bed. "Fluent Elvhen? You speak it so differently from any Keeper I've ever met. Where did you learn it?"

"Do the Dalish not know how to knock?" he groused, turning back to her with his arms folded tightly across his chest, his mouth creased in a firm line of disapproval.

"My, someone certainly isn't a morning person," she laughed. "And no, Dalish don't knock, everything is shared, including spaces. If you really want to be alone, you just leave camp. I heard you moving around in here and your door was unlocked, so I assumed you wouldn't mind some company."

"That is a rather large assumption," he told her sternly. "I am accustomed to a fair amount of privacy, and it is usually considered common curtesy to make yourself known before entering what you know to be someone else's room."

"Sorry if I offended you and your hermit ways," she said with thinly veiled amusement, "but if you really wanted to keep people out, why didn't you just lock the door?"

Solas heaved a grating sigh.

"Enough. It is done. I ask only that it does not happen again," he said in a clipped tone. "Was there something you needed from me, Herald?"

" _Aili_ ," she corrected him, making a face at the unwanted title. "It's bad enough that the humans are calling me that, I don't need it from one of my own, too."

"I am not 'one of your own'," he informed her.

"You're an elf, aren't you?" she asked, smirking at him and cocking her head slightly to one side.

"And decidedly _not_ Dalish," he reminded her.

"So what?" she asked, blinking at him in confusion. "Does that change the way the humans treat you? Does that change our history or our heritage? Do you really think that because I bear these vallaslin the only thing we have in common is the shape of our ears?"

Solas was quiet for a moment, contemplating this strange woman who had barged into is cabin, not quite sure what to make of her.

"You…you don't like me very much, do you?" she asked, sounding a trifle wounded at his silence.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"Well…for someone Varric named, 'Chuckles', you don't laugh very much when I'm around," she noted.

"Varric has a penchant for ironic nicknames," Solas told her with a derisive snort. "I might point out that I doubt you have heard me laugh much around _anyone_. It hardly seems the time, with the war between mages and Templars raging across Thedas, and a massive tear in the Veil spewing demons everywhere."

"Fair enough," she conceded, "but you still don't like me. You don't like the fact that I'm Dalish, and that I'm proud of where I come from. You judge me based on your dealings with my people, with clans whom you've admitted likely follow alternate customs and foster different moralities than my own."

"Is your clan so divergent?" he asked, a trace of bitterness sharpening his tone. "Are they possessed of a hidden wealth of knowledge and acceptance that your fellows lack?"

"I don't know," Aili shrugged at him, offering up a lopsided smile. "But you could find out."

"What…are you suggesting precisely?" he queried with a raised brow.

"You said we wouldn't listen to the truth," she said, taking another bite out of her apple and grinning at him. "So, that's what I'm here to do: listen."

"And…you would simply accept the word of a flat-ear? …you would believe what I have seen during my journeys in the Fade?" he asked doubtfully.

"I never said that," Aili said bluntly, shaking her head. "I said I would _listen_. Keeper Deshanna always said, 'Wisdom cannot be simply handed to you by another, Da'len. You must listen, and then you must find the truth in what you have heard for yourself, through study and contemplation. But _first_ you must always listen.'"

"The words of a sensible woman," Solas commented approvingly. He stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment before nodding his agreement. "Very well, what would you like to know?"

"Everything!" Aili exclaimed, scooching even farther down the bed so that she was sitting as close to him as possible.

Solas laughed. Aili beamed triumphantly.

"Ha!" she crowed. "You _can_ laugh!"

"I never said I couldn't," he said, with the remnants of a smile still playing about his lips. "However, I fear it may take me a while to teach you _everything_ , Da'len."

He frowned slightly in embarrassment afterwards, his eyes darting away from her, "I apologize, I should not have called you-"

"I like it!" She cut him off, grinning broadly. "It's better than being 'The Herald of Andraste' at any rate, and it's worth it if it actually gets you to live up to your nickname."

He gave her a dubious glance.

"I hardly think that sharing my knowledge with you is going to transform me into some giddy sniggering simpleton." He told her flatly.

"Never say never, _Hahren_!" she chuckled confidently.

Solas rolled his eyes at her, but found himself smiling despite himself. Her good humor was astoundingly infectious. He opened his mouth to begin their first lesson when Cassandra's commanding voice cut through the crisp morning air, searching for the woman with the fated mark on her hand.

"Looks like we're out of time for today," Aili sighed in obvious disappointment, getting up from the bed and heading towards the door.

"Da'len?" Solas called after her uncertainly. She turned back to face him, her gaze expectant, her face visibly brightening at the new moniker. Her obvious partiality for the name was surprisingly endearing, and he found himself tripping over his next sentence. "You may come by tomorrow morning to talk, if you are so inclined. Just…knock first."

"I'll be here!" Aili promised enthusiastically as she walked out the door.

"Oh, and Hahren?" she said, poking her head back inside to look at him. "Feel free to answer the door in whatever state of dress you'd like. Believe me when I say, you have _nothing_ to be embarrassed about."

She took one last bite out of her apple, flashed him a toothy smile, and disappeared out into the bright morning.

Solas felt a faint heat creeping up his cheeks after she left, and when he caught the eye of his reflection in the small chipped looking glass they'd given him, he was grinning from ear to ear.


	2. My Kingdom for a Horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aili doesn’t like her new horse. Solas doesn’t like the name she picks.

"No," Solas heard the elven woman that the humans had recently named 'Herald of Andraste' snap mulishly as he led the old gray mare they'd given him towards the front of Haven's stables. "No no no no _no_. Absolutely not. Not for all the hideous hats in Orlais. Not for a million sovereigns. _No_."

"You're being inexplicably unreasonable about this," came the voice of Commander Cullen, whose patience was obviously beginning to wear thin. "It's just a horse."

"That thing is _not_ a horse," Aili Lavellan replied stubbornly. "It's an ogre with its horns sawed off."

The Commander heaved a grating sigh as Solas came out of the stables and rounded the corner to see what all the fuss was about. Varric was holding the lead of a plump cream-colored pony and looking all too entertained by the scene before him. The little Dalish woman with the fated mark on her hand was in the middle of a stand-off with Cullen, crossing her arms tightly across her chest and flat-out refusing to take the reins of the enormous black draft horse the former templar was trying to offer her. The animal stamped its foot and gave and angry snort, its dark eyes rolling back in its head as it pinned its ears back in displeasure. Solas wasn't entirely sure he blamed the Herald for having misgivings; the beast was rather…daunting.

"I think I'd rather walk," the elven woman said with a scowl.

"The journey to the Hinterlands from Haven takes nearly three weeks on foot," Cullen reminded her with a roll of his eyes.

"At least I know I'd be alive when I got there," came the retort.

"I thought the Dalish tamed wild beasts and rode them places all the time?" Varric said with a clearly amused grin.

"We ride _halla_ ," Aili corrected him with a groan of frustration, "and we don't _tame_ them. They come to us willingly."

"Well, there's plenty of woods around here," Varric pointed out helpfully, making a broad sweeping gesture with his arms. "You could always stand out in the snow until a halla turns up, if you don't want to ride the horse."

"And _you_ could go stand in a cave and see how long it takes for the Stone to start talking to you," she shot back.

"I could, but Cassandra would miss me," he laughed.

"I'm sure I would find some way to survive the deprivation," the Seeker's voice cut through the crisp morning air as she came riding up on a gleaming white charger. "What seems to be the trouble here, Commander?"

"The Herald is… _displeased_ with our selection of mounts," the former templar informed her with a distinct air of one who has been severely put upon. Cassandra studied the steed intended for the Herald for a few moments before turning to the elven woman with a puzzled frown.

"I see nothing wrong with the horse. What is your problem with it?" she queried.

"You mean outside of the fact that it looks like it could breathe fire?" the Dalish elf asked grouchily. She twisted her hands together before mumbling, "I'm…allergic."

Solas gave a huff of disbelieving laughter, only to have Aili look over and scowl at the sleepy-looking steed they'd given him to ride.

"How come Solas gets a normal horse?" Lavellan demanded peevishly, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"I think the word 'normal' is a bit generous," he informed her with a smirk. "This mare has seen a few too many winters. She may be docile, but if we needed to flee from some imminent danger, I'm afraid I would be the first one to get caught."

"I'd rather be slow than try to cling to the back of that monster as it goes tearing through the countryside," she grumbled.

"You are also the Herald of Andraste," Solas reminded her, "and a certain amount of posturing is necessary."

"Until you contact Horse Master Dennet, I'm afraid our choice of mounts is rather limited," Cullen said apologetically. "Moonbeam might have a sweeter disposition, but she also looks a bit…bedraggled. I don't think she'd make the right impression."

"It wouldn't say much about the Inquisition if the Herald of Andraste came riding into town on a worn-out nag," Varric explained.

"It would say that the Herald values her own life more than winning hearts and minds," Aili muttered sourly. "The horse you gave Cassandra doesn't seem like it just escaped from the Void, why can't I ride _that_ one?"

"Valora is _my_ horse," the Seeker said stiffly. "I trained her myself. She has never borne another rider, and she has thrown the few who have tried."

"You know what they say about pets resembling their owners," Varric commented blithely. Cassandra glowered at him.

"All right, all right, I'll ride your blighted beast of a horse," Aili sighed in resignation, throwing her hands up in surrender. "What's his name?"

"Uh…Horse?" Cullen shrugged. "He was found grazing in an abandoned farmhold a few days ago. Nobody has tried to ride him yet, let alone bothered to name him."

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better," the Dalish woman muttered darkly. Privately, Solas agreed. The fact that peasants fleeing for their lives didn't take a strong plow horse with them to carry their belongings did not speak well of the animal's temper. "Someone come here and give me a leg up."

Cullen was not only the closest and the only one with two free hands, but he also seemed extremely eager to have this business over with. Or, Solas thought, perhaps the man simply had an appreciation for a pair of lean elven thighs. He could hardly hold that against him.

Even with the Commander's assistance, Aili was having an extraordinarily difficult time getting enough leverage to swing her leg over the horse's back. The beast was almost impossibly tall and had little to no interest in standing still long enough to be mounted. After three failed attempts, one of which ended with the Herald of Andraste falling backwards and almost toppling head over heels over the Commander's shoulder, Cullen practically threw Aili into the saddle. The poor man had been forced to lay hands on the elven woman in a rather intimate way in order to keep her from repeatedly tumbling into the snow, and the mortification of publicly doing something that might be perceived as crass had left his face as red as his fur trimmed coat.

" _There_ ," Cullen bit out gruffly, "nothing to worry about, as I said." Aili dug her fingers into the horse's thick ebony mane and peered down at the human apprehensively.

"How am I supposed to get down?" she asked with a hint of fear.

"Carefully," Solas suggested.

"By leaping into the arms of a waiting prince?" Varric offered.

"Well, you're the only prince I know, Va-ah-ah- _CHOO_!" Her sentence ended with a violent sneeze, and the horse bucked fiercely at the sudden noise. The Herald of Andraste shrieked in equal parts terror and alarm as she flew over the beast's head and mercifully landed in a nearby pile of hay.

When she sat up, completely disheveled with bits of hay sticking out of her hair and clothing, seething but clearly unhurt, it was impossible not to laugh at her expense. Varric was practically in tears. Solas was moments away from offering her his horse after all when she rose to her feet and started cursing.

"Fen'harel's hairy left butt-cheek!" she exclaimed vehemently as she stomped over to face her nemesis. She grabbed its bridle and glared. "You're an _evil_ creature." The horse gave an angry snort in reply and attempted to snap at her hands.

Solas felt the smile slide from his face. The muscles in his insulted posterior flexed in offence. If she was going to curse his old name every time her steed was ill-tempered, it was going to make the next few weeks of travelling together trying, to say the least.

"I will break you," she informed the horse crossly before breaking out into another fit of sneezes. Solas sighed.

As predicted, their journey was filled with bouts of frenzied sneezing followed by irritated kicking followed by streams of cursing and invoking the Dread Wolf by turns. For his part, Solas was rather torn between amusement, aggravation, and a fair share of confusion in regards to the Dalish woman. She would spend an entire day unwittingly screaming in both Elvhen and Common about the various ways his genitals were inadequate, and otherwise generally badmouthing every inch of his person, and while the rational part of him knew that it wasn't _really_ directed at him, it was hard to completely disassociate himself from a name he had been called for centuries. The onslaught of defamations had left him…irritable, to say the least. But then, just when he thought he had taken as much abuse as he could tolerate and was about to storm off somewhere to cool his head, they'd stop to set up their modest campsite and Aili would instantly be at his side, all smiles and jokes and excited questions.

He imagined that she clung to his companionship largely because he was both a fellow elf and a mage. She was understandably still a bit wary of Cassandra, and though it was clear she liked Varric, she most likely didn't know just how far she trusted him yet. 'Solas' however, was quiet and unassuming, full of stories about magic and battles and lost kingdoms, and spoke the dying language of her race with a grace and fluidity she had likely never encountered; it was only natural that she would look to him first and foremost as an ally. The irony of her blind faith in his protection was not lost on him. Even so, when she blinked up at him with those intelligent amethyst eyes and grilled him for more details about something he had seen in the Fade, or certain properties of spell casting, or the way he pronounced a word in Elvhen, he found her sincere and unwavering interest…endearing. And it was beyond his power to stay mad at her for long.

The Hinterlands were a mess. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas were often allowed a day of respite, but every scout, refugee, farmer, and cultist in the area seemed to require the particular attention of the 'Herald of Andraste'. Aili was up at the crack of dawn every day, clambering into the saddle of her gigantic mount half asleep and riding out to meet with the unwashed masses. Every evening she rode back into camp looking like she'd fallen down a mountainside, stumbling over to the campfire and collapsing into an exhausted slump on one of the logs surrounding it. Solas had taken to waiting up for her, saving her a portion of whatever had been made for dinner.

"Ma Serannas," she groaned, taking a bowl of stew from his outstretched hand. "Between making nice with the locals and trying to break in Fen'Harel, I'm not sure I could have made it another step."

Solas nearly spat out the water he'd been sipping.

"You named the horse Fen'Harel?" he sputtered.

"It seemed appropriate," the blonde elf shrugged. "He's menacing, wicked, and frighteningly smart. I hoped that if I named him after the Dread Wolf, maybe the old trickster would show up and eat him." There was a distant whinny of indignation. Solas blinked in surprise, but Aili simply grimaced. "See what I mean? He knows when people talk about him. Creepy."

The younger elf moaned piteously as she slid off the log onto the ground, rubbing her hands over her legs. "I've been riding Fen'Harel every day...we didn't even ride halla this often, and that horse is simply too big to be allowed. My thighs are killing me. Have you ever ridden a halla, Solas? You pretty much just sit there and let it take you someplace. Riding a horse takes _work_. Especially a stubborn one like Fen'Harel. I constantly have to guide him, gripping with my knees just so he doesn't toss me into a ditch every time he decides he wants to get rid of me. And when he breaks into a trot I keep bouncing up and down in the saddle. Honestly, the only thing that hurts more than my legs is my a- Solas?"

"I think I should retire for the evening," he told her in a strangled voice.

"Are you blushing?" she asked, clearly amused.

"...no." When he finished knotting the ties of his tent flaps together, he could still hear her laughing.


	3. Fight Me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aili is bad at being sick. Solas is an exasperated and amused nurse.

He almost didn't catch her the first time.

"Lemme go, Solas!" The Herald of Andraste protested with a hiss, flailing her arms as he grabbed her around her middle and physically began hauling her back towards the camp. "I'm sick of being stuck in that stupid tent all day, and I've got work to do."

"You _are_ sick, Da'len," he reminded her with a grunt as one of her elbows caught him in the ribs, "And precisely what sort of work were you planning to get done in the middle of the night?"

"There's a rift around here," Aili said dazedly as what was left of her strength seem to leave her and she sagged heavily in his arms. "I can feel it. Makes my whole arm all tingle-buzzy, like bees. Glowy magic bees. Bzzzzzzz… And I wouldn't _have_ to sneak out at night if you and Cassandra weren't such a pair of mother hens. So picky-pecky. Peck pick peck. "

"And you were going to fight whatever demons had come through the Veil on your own?" Solas snorted. "All while delirious with fever and drugged out of your mind?"

"I feel _fine_. My ankle doesn't even hurt anymore," she insisted, even as she tripped over her own feet. He pulled her back to him to stop the fall, causing her face to smack him squarely in the chest.

"You have taken too many elfroot potions," Solas informed her evenly.

" _You've_ taken too many elfroot potions," Aili mumbled belligerently into his sweater. "I'm the First to a Keeper, Protector of Elvhen lore, and an important agent for the Inquisition; I can fight anything. I can fight dragons and demons, and whatever else. I can fight _you_ if I have to. Bring it on! Fight me, Hahren!" She thumped a hand against his shoulder weakly.

"Is that what you told the bears?" Solas asked, his tone a mixture of exasperation and mild amusement as they finally managed to hobble back into her tent.

"It was!" Aili exclaimed as Solas guided her down onto her bedroll. "I would have beaten them too, if Cassandra hadn't gotten in the way."

"Cassandra is likely the only reason you are not lying dead in a ditch with your face mauled off," Solas reminded her sternly. "She told me you were hitting them over the head with your staff."

"Just the one!" she objected sleepily. "I was running low on mana and it was going after Varric."

"Is that how you ended up unconscious at the bottom of a ravine?" he asked, his brow furrowed in consternation.

"No, no…that was because of the bees." She explained nonchalantly, as though she were commenting on the weather as opposed to a near death experience. "My staff knocked a hive as I was riding back to camp for help and… Well, Fen'Harel doesn't like bees. So, he decided to give them a piece of his mind, and pitched me off his back in the process. Which is how I ended up down in a gully and half way in a stream."

"Your horse was the only reason we found you," Solas told her, still sounding baffled at the memory of it.

"He knows who keeps the carrots coming," she said with a drowsy smile as her eyes drifted shut.

"You are doting on a beast who actively seeks to unsaddle you at every given opportunity?" Solas asked dubiously.

"You catch more flies with honey, Hahren," she informed him in a sleepy sing-song voice.

Aili was quiet for a moment and, assuming she had fallen asleep, Solas moved to pull her blanket over her.

"Don't forget, I'm gonna fight you," she told him through a thick yawn as he tucked the covers under her chin, "but…since I'm so generous, I'm going to…rest a bit while you take some time to bolster your courage. I can be pretty scary, I know."

"Thank you, Da'len," Solas chuckled softly as he sat back, watching her as she drifted off to sleep. "I was truly afraid for my life."

The second time she was betrayed by her accomplice.

" _Harellan_ ," she accused the huge black draft horse under her breath when he stopped directly in front of Solas' tent and refused to move farther, oblivious to her friend's slight flinch at the word. "See if I slip you any treats after this."

"You are not the only one capable of bribery, Da'len," Solas informed her with a smirk, patting the horses flank and sputtering when the beast twitched its tail and smacked in directly in the face with it.

"Ha!" Aili panted breathlessly, pausing for a moment to give a violent sneeze, her face still flushed with fever, "Serves you right."

She leaned closer to the Fen'Harel's head, stroking his neck as she whispered loudly, "I don't know what he promised you, Ma falon, but I know I can do better. He's just some wandering apostate who knows a lot about the Fade, while _I_ am the Herald of Andraste; I've got connections. Just get me out to the Fade rift and you can live in lavish horsey luxury for the rest of your days."

"Assuming, of course, that you did not die in the inevitable battle such an outing would lead to," Solas commented casually. "In which case, the animal who allowed such an incident to occur would likely be put to the sword."

Fen'Harel abruptly sat his hind quarters on the ground, sending his rider to sliding off his back and rolling onto the grass, pinning his ears back at the harsh sounds of her cursing.

"You really are a demon who came through the Veil in the shape of a horse just to torment me." Aili said hoarsely, glaring up at her mount and sneezing once more. Fen'Harel answered with a flippant snort and a flick of his long tail, whipping her sharply in the back of the head.

" _Fenehdis!_ " She exclaimed angrily clutching the back of her skull. "May the Dread Wolf grind you into paste and spread you on his morning toast, you monster!"

"That hardly sounds appetizing," Solas noted with a wry smile.

"You're just as bad as he is!" Aili informed him with a glower. "You think I can't hear Cassandra talking to our scouts outside of my tent? The demons from that rift have been killing refugees. Why won't you lemme do my job?"

"Possibly because you still have dangerously high fever, your ankle has barely healed, and you have ingested enough elfroot to stun a bronto?" He replied with an arched brow.

"Psh, details," she said, waving a hand at him dismissively and lurching to her feet, breathing hard. "You just don't think I'm tough enough. But I _am_! And you aren't even brave enough to face me in a duel so I can prove it to you! You're actually frightened of me, aren't you, Hahren? Admit it!"

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she fainted, pitching forward into Solas' waiting arms.

"Completely terrified, Da'len."

There were several other attempts at escape made over the next week, each one getting progressively more and more ridiculous, including one in which Aili tried to convince him that she was Cassandra by doing a horrific impersonation of the Seeker's Nevarran accent and scowling at him as hard as she could. And when he had pointed out her obviously elven ears, she had tried to persuade Solas that she was actually _him_ instead. He admired her tenacious spirit, even as she drove him to the point of near aggravation, but the more pressing issue was that she didn't seem to be getting any better.

"There is nothing for it, " Cassandra said with a grating sigh when he and Varric had joined her for a meeting to discuss their next course of action. "The rift here must be closed before we leave. Afterwards, we will take the Herald back to Haven for proper treatment. She will have a harder time breaking out of a locked building, if nothing else."

"I think you underestimate her, Seeker," Solas said, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a brief grin. "But I still disagree. The Herald is in no condition to fight."

"Dandelion had a heated argument with Bianca yesterday about the Chant of Light," Varric added with a grimace. "Anyone who starts accusing weaponry or religious oppression probably shouldn't be trusted to sling fire around."

"What choice do we have?" Cassandra snapped, "The people out here are all but defenseless, and the Herald is the only one who can close these tears in the Veil."

"I can do it," Aili coughed, staggering out of her tent, leaning heavily on he staff.

Solas opened his mouth to protest, but found himself silenced by the defiance in her gaze.

" _I can do it_ , Solas," she repeated fiercely, daring him to deny it. He heaved a defeated sigh before giving her a short affirming nod.

"This is crazy talk!" Varric objected. "You'd fall on your ass if a demon so much as looked at you funny, Dandy."

"The Herald does not need to fight," Cassandra said firmly, turning to face Aili squarely. "Your only job is to seal the rift, leave the demons to us."

Aili made a face like she wanted to argue, but she apparently had enough wits about her to think better of it and settled for simply nodding her agreement.

The rift was not too far from camp, but it still took nearly all of what little strength Aili had just to stay in her saddle on the ride there.

Solas helped her down from her steed, casting a protective barrier around them as he wrapped an arm about her waist and led her to the edge of the clearing where the rift had appeared. There were already a fair amount of shades and two rage demons milling around, waiting for the next group of hapless travelers to approach.

Solas frowned. There were even more of the fiends than they had anticipated. He helped Aili prop herself against a tree, reinforcing the protective spell he had cast around her before stepping away.

"Wait here, Da'len," He instructed her. She gave him a tired smile and waved him off to join their companions.

Cassandra took point as they moved further into the clearing, drawing the demons notice. Solas blasted two shades with a spray of ice as Varric peppered a rage demon who tried to cut around a flank them with bolts from his crossbow.

There was still a single shade charging at Cassandra, and she met it head on, bashing it directly in the face with her shield, sending it staggering. It let loose a low groan of displeasure as it came back, swiping furiously with its razor sharp claws. She batted them away with her shield again, opening a path for her blade as she leapt forward to follow through, catching the creature deep in its gut. She twisted the sword savagely before yanking it free. The demon shrieked as its body dissolved, a faint hiss of magic skittering over the Seeker's skin as the Fade rift seemed to reabsorb its essence.

Meanwhile, the rage demon Varric had shot at earlier was closing in on him, flanked by another pair of shades. The rogue managed to plant a bolt in one of the lesser demon's eyes, bringing it down with a single shot, but the other two still pressed forward, herding him steadily back towards the trees. The rage demon lunged forward, snagging the dwarf in the arm with its fiery talons even has he back flipped out of range.

"A little help here?" Varric called out, panting hard and priming Bianca for another round of bolts.

"I am afraid I seem to be a bit preoccupied at the moment," Solas replied over his shoulder as he brought up a wall of ice to defend himself from the second rage demon who was baring down on him.

Cassandra charged from the other side of the field, sprinting across the muddy grass to his aid, drawing off the remaining shade with short vicious swipes of her sword. However, that still left Varric at the rage demon's mercy. He showered the creature with another hail of bolts from his crossbow, but they seemed to do little more than incite its already blistering wrath.

A spurt of flame erupted from where the mouth would be on a normal animal, aimed straight at Varric's face. He threw his arm across his head and braced himself for the scorching heat of the blast- but it never came. The dwarf blinked up at the barrier which had magically formed around him in astonishment. He glanced over at Solas to find that the elf still had his hands full with his own demon. That only left…

Aili was down on one knee and breathing hard, her right hand was held out towards him, focusing intently on maintaining the shield she has raised. Her face was bright red from exertion, and even from where he was standing, Varric could tell that she was sweating profusely.

"You're not supposed to be fighting, Dandy!" Varric shouted in concern.

"What?" Solas asked in alarm, momentarily freezing the demon in front of him and whipping around to look at her.

" _You're welcome!_ " Aili snapped in breathless annoyance. She met Solas' gaze. "Hurry up and help him, I can't hold this long."

"Herald, you should not be-" Solas began.

"I _said_ ," Aili interjected fiercely, throwing out her left hand and casting a powerful surge of lightening at the frozen demon behind Solas, shattering it into a thousand tiny fragments, "Hurry. _Up_."

She dropped to all fours shortly afterwards, exhausted, as Solas' encased the final demon in a thick layer of ice. Varric quickly showered the creature in another wave of bolts from Bianca and lobbed a grenade at it for good measure. Like the monster before it, the rage demon splintered into pieces, and what was left of it was drawn back into the Fade.

Cassandra felled the final shade a few moments later, and the rift throbbed with raw magic, crackling angrily and flooding the meadow in a sickly green light. Aili gave a strangled scream, struggling with all she had left to rise to her feet, stretching out her marked hand toward the hole in the sky.

"Herald!" Cassandra barked anxiously even as Solas and Varric rushed to her side.

"I've got this!" Aili said through gritted teeth, quaking as her mark connected to the Fade and began the process of mending the wounded Veil. The rift snapped shut with a deafening boom, and for half an instant the entire party was disoriented, fighting to keep their feet. When they looked back, Aili was face down on the ground, unmoving.

"Herald!" Solas shouted, hastening to kneel beside her. Cassandra and Varric hovered behind him, shooting each other worried glances as Solas pulled her into his lap and patted her cheek firmly, attempting to rouse her. She was clammy to the touch and her tan skin was unusually pale. She wasn't breathing.

"Da'len!" Solas tried again, shaking her roughly by the shoulders. He was low on mana after the fight, if he used what he had left and it did nothing, he would be powerless to help her. Her head lolled back on her shoulders, and still her chest did not rise. He was running out of time, if she did not wake soon...

" _Aili!_ " This time, his tone was commanding, furious, frantic. He tore the fastens open on the front of her leather armor, and did the same when he encountered the cotton shirt beneath it. He placed both hands against the bare skin of her chest and sent every last ounce of healing magic he could muster into her body in a single powerful blast.

She jerked violently in his arms before going still again, and for a moment he thought they had lost her. Then, her entire body spasmed as she rolled to one sided, wracked with coughs and sputtering.

Once she seemed to have regained her breath, Solas turned her back to him gently. Her pulse was erratic, but strong, and her fever seemed to have broken. She offered him a shaky smile.

"Put 'em up, Hahren." she whispered hoarsely. Solas gave a startled laugh of relief.

"Go easy on me, Da'len," he said softly, brushing a stray lock of pale damp hair back from her face, smiling down at her fondly. "I fear I am no match for you."


	4. Lethallan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aili Awkward Nerd struggles with the realization that her feelings for the Inquisition's Fade expert might not be strictly platonic.

Aili was famished, but for once she had wanted to be alone, and this had been her first chance to slip away from her companions in three days of traveling. They all wanted to hover over her, poking at her to make sure she was still herself and giving her disappointed frowns about allying with the mages. They were good people, but Mythal's mercy, all she wanted was a bit of quiet to collect herself. The sleeping woods were beautiful and still, and she refused to let the angry gurgling in her belly ruin it for her.

She heard the footsteps approaching long before their owner reached the little stream she had come to sit by to gather her thoughts. Unconcerned, she pulled off her boots, dipped her feet in the cool water and continued to hum quietly to herself as though she was unaware of her intruder. Their steps were light, but a Dalish hunter moved as silently as a shadow through the forest, and her closest friend growing up was the best scout in their clan. Daewyn had always liked sneaking up on her, trying to see how high he could make her jump. He'd even shot the water buckets she'd been toting out of her hands once or twice just to make her scream. He had seen to it that she was constantly aware of any strange sounds out in the forest, lest she ended up getting pushed into a pond or pelted with a clod of dirt. He had been a laughing, charming, over-confident, pain in her backside, and Creators help her, but she missed his stupid ass.

The events at Redcliffe had thrown her. Ever since Cassandra and her Maker-loving cronies had roped Aili and her creepy glowing Fade-hand into joining the Inquisition, she had pretty much just been making things up as she went along. Creators alone knew why, but people kept asking her to make decisions, expecting her to be capable of fixing everything from finding blankets for refugees to closing that great sodding tear in the sky; it was like she had suddenly become Keeper for all of southern Thedas. She couldn't exactly tell them 'no', so…she had mostly begun trusting her gut and hoping for the best. Thus far, it seemed to be working fairly well, but then some crazy grief-stricken magister had decided to rip a hole in time and chuck her and some snarky mustachioed shem into the future.

And what a future it had been. Darkness, death, and the acrid stench of fear had engulfed all there was like a hungry maw. Rifts and demons were everywhere, red lyurim growing out of the walls, out of _people_ ; it had been horrific beyond words. The stuff of nightmares— _literally_. And the worst part was that it was still a possibility.

She had tried to shake it off like a bad dream, but she hadn't just seen it, she had lived it. All of it. And it was _real_. Leliana had been cut down to defend her, not even knowing if Dorian's spell would work. Varric and Solas had both been dragged into the main hall of the castle, limp and bloody, their broken bodies tossed at her feet. Solas had stared up at her blankly, his dead eyes still glowing red with the tainted lyrium's corruption, eyes that should have been blue and intelligent and kind. Eyes which sometimes smiled at her even when his mouth did not. Eyes that looked at her and made her feel…

Aili shook her head furiously. Getting some silly little infatuation when the whole world was going to the Void? This was why she needed Daewyn here. He would have laughed her out of her folly and given her a kick in the ass to get her back into the fray and helping people. Mythal save her if he ever learned that she'd gone all calf-eyed over some bald, soft-spoken scholar. She'd never hear the end of it.

The footsteps halted close behind her and there was a faint rustling of cloth, as though the man was shifting his stance slightly as he considered what to say. She knew who it was without even looking. There were other members of the Inquisition who could most likely see through her poor attempts at being cheerful, but most of them were content to give her a concerned glance and go back to feigning ignorance. Only one of them would have followed her out here to make sure she was all right.

"Aneth ara, Hahren," she said softly, feeling the heat rising in her face. "Come to check on me?"

"You have been gone for quite some time, Da'len," Solas informed her quietly, the faintest trances of concern bleeding through his calm demeanor. "The evening meal has long since been served. And, you must pardon me for saying so, but since the incident at Redcliffe, you…have not been yourself."

"Meaning I haven't been pestering you every hour of the day," Aili said with a thin, rueful smile. "I thought you would appreciate a break from my constant babbling."

"You do not babble," Solas insisted, sounding a bit surprised. She gave him a disbelieving glance as he sat down beside her. "…often," he conceded.

"You question, you wonder, you show interest in topics most would be afraid of or choose to forget because the truth of our world is a difficult and complicated thing," he said. "This is nothing to be ashamed of, and I am sorry if I have ever made you feel the need to apologize for it. If I appear distant, it is because…it has simply been a long time since anyone has actively sought out my company, but I find it is a welcome change. I enjoy our discussions."

"You _do_?" she asked, clearly astonished at the thought. He huffed in amusement.

"I would not pursue them otherwise," Solas told her with an encouraging grin. He was silent for a moment, his deep blue eyes searching her face for something. "I fear our conversation this evening must be a bit less pleasant than usual, however. Will you tell me what is troubling you, Da'len?"

"I'm just…" Aili trailed away for a moment, staring down at her bare toes as she wiggled them in the water, she had blisters from those boots they kept forcing her into. She looked back over at him. "You're always so composed, so sure of yourself…I know we've only known each other a few months, but even with mages and templars setting the world on fire and demons literally falling from the sky, I've never seen you be afraid of anything. Not once. How do you do it?"

"Would running around screaming have resolved any of our troubles?" he asked with a hint of playfulness. She snorted.

"That's not what I meant." Aili frowned and glanced away from him. "I'm the First to a Keeper. I was supposed to be good at this sort of thing. Taking care of people, being strong for them…I guess I just thought I'd be better at it, this whole…'being a hero' thing."

"You give yourself too little credit," Solas assured her. "Considering the circumstances, you have handled yourself admirably thus far. As to being afraid, it is perfectly normal. And…"

"And?" she asked, curious to see how he would end his thought.

"And you are young," he told her with a faint smile and a slight shrug of his shoulders. She turned her face away from him, flushed and scowling.

The thought that he regarded her as little more than a child filled her with a petulant sort of indignation, but she bit her tongue and said nothing. It was one thing to call her 'Da'len', it was a bit of an endearing joke between them, but this was something else entirely. She folded her arms across her chest, closing herself off from him. She realized that pouting like this was somewhat proving his point, but the words had stung.

He touched her shoulder lightly, seeing how his words had affected her and trying to be consoling. When she glared back at him, his eyes shone with amusement and one eyebrow had quirked mischievously.

"I did not say it was a _bad_ thing," he reminded her.

"You didn't say it was a good thing either," she pointed out peevishly. He laughed.

"A touch of both, perhaps," Solas said with a grin, tilting his head slightly to one side. "To be afraid of your adversary and to fight them regardless of that fear is an act of bravery, and facing this world with your heart bared, to freely express both compassion and grief, is a courageous thing which few are capable of. Though perhaps the latter has more to do with the strength of your spirit than your youth. You are a rare person indeed."

Aili felt the heat radiating from the base of her neck all the way to the tips of her pointed ears, and imagined that she must strongly resemble a raspberry. Giddy with a pleased sort of embarrassment and smiling like a fool, she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, trying to think of what to say.

Taking note of this reaction and realizing what it meant, Solas frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. His eyes darted away from her as though he had said more than he meant to. He rose abruptly and took a step back towards the denser part of the forest.

"Come," he said brusquely, the slight color rising across his cheeks belying his stoicism, "We should return to camp. The others will be missing us." She reached out and snagged his coat without thinking, not wanting the moment to end just yet. Her mind scrabbled for what she could say to make him linger.

" _I saw you die_ ," Aili blurted out, the declaration catching in her throat. She was mortified by the outburst, but it seemed to have the desired effect. Solas was standing stock still, as if awaiting an explanation. The words tumbled from her before she thought better of it, "You'd been kept in a cell, and the red lyrium had been poisoning you for a year, but you still died protecting me, fighting to give me a chance to come back. I got you killed. I failed you. I failed _everyone_. And I didn't even know if Dorian's plan would work, or if we'd get trapped in some other timeline and I wouldn't be able to save you and…" She trailed away, staring up at him with wide frightened eyes, feeling like an idiot. He blinked down at her in amazement.

She bit her lip and released him, wishing she had a hole to disappear into right about now. She twisted her fingers together nervously as the silence stretched between them uncomfortably. Solas knelt in front of her, placing one hand over both of hers, stilling their agitated movements.

"My safety is hardly worth such concern," he told her gently.

"But…at Haven," she mumbled, staring down at where their hands touched. "When you decided to stay with the Inquisition…I promised I'd protect you."

"I never expected your vow to be so…thorough," he replied, sounding distinctly amused.

Aili ducked away from him and said nothing. She had never actively pursued a man before. She had never had an interest and, as far as she could tell, no one had ever had an interest in _her_. Sure, she had gotten a lingering glance or two on the infrequent occasions when they ran into another clan, but it never went farther than that. Everyone knew that she and Daewyn were close, and there had been…expectations. And yet, as much as she loved him, Daewyn's words had never caused this paralyzing mixture of ecstasy and fear that she was experiencing now. He had never made her heart thunder in her ears just by being near her, or smiling at her, or laughing at one of her dumb jokes. He had never been more than family.

Solas was different. Not just different from the Dalish, but from any elf, and for that matter, any man she had ever met. He was patient with her, always steady, always calm; he reminded her of her Keeper, a comparison which would have rankled him, no doubt. Despite this, he was also capable of playfulness, though his own laughter always seemed like it surprised him. His companionship had become a haven in the mad whirlwind her life had suddenly been tossed into. He was careful and compassionate and kind, and she couldn't help hoping that he saw something in her worthy of his admiration.

Solas squeezed her hands gently to get her attention. The expression on his face was guarded, uncertain.

"There…was a moment," he said in a low gruff voice, "after Alexius used the amulet…There were scorch marks on the floor, and you were nowhere to be seen, and I assumed that you were… I was afraid." He looked her straight in the eye, and his gaze was sincere and tinged with a slight air of lingering worry. She wondered what would happen if she dared to lean forward, if she just…

Her stomach rumbled loudly, demanding her attention and breaking the spell of the moment. Solas laughed.

"Come, Lethallan, we should find you something to eat," he said, still chuckling as he rose to his feet once more.

"Lethallan?" she repeated, sounding a bit shocked.

"It was…presumptuous of me to treat you as a child," he told her. "You are not, and I should not call you so." He caught her eye and grinned, "Besides, we are friends, are we not?"

"Yes," she replied, forcing a smile, but cringing inwardly at the word ' _friends_ '. "I suppose we are. Lead the way, _Lethallin_."


	5. The Shepherd Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was “The look of two people who are in love, but too scared to say anything”.

Aili awoke in darkness, the only source of light coming from the flickering green magic pulsing angrily in her left palm. Her shallow jagged breaths spiraled up from her mouth in thin wispy plumes as they reached for the ceiling of the cave like pale ghostly hands. It took her a moment to gather her wits, her head still reeling slightly from an impromptu meeting with the unyielding stone of the cavern walls during her sudden plummet into what appeared to be a set of tunnels beneath Haven she had not even known were here.

She sat up slowly, groaning at several varying types of pain from a wide array of injures which seemed prevalent where she had landed along her left side. Her ribcage felt as though it were stabbing her with every labored pull of breath. She was not sure what Corypheus had done to her mark exactly, but her entire left arm seemed like it was burning from the inside out. She tried to flex her hand, and was met only with a deep throbbing ache in the muscles of her shoulder. Her fingers did not move, and she realized the blighted Magister must have wrenched it from its socket when he had pulled her off the ground and shook her like a rag doll. The rush of fear and adrenaline must have masked the soreness until now.  

Aili grunted, attempting to summon her magic in her right hand, trying to heal what she could with what little mana she had left after her fight with the would-be god. The spell sputtered and died in her palm. She was too weak, and she couldn’t focus long enough to cast. Although, even if she could get the spell to work, she was just as likely to make things worse; trying to heal yourself of a serious injury was always risky. Healing required concentration and a calm state of mind, panicking while you tried to put your insides back where they should be could kill you just as easily as the wound itself.

Well, if she was unable help herself, she would simply have to find help elsewhere. She was uncertain exactly how long she had been unconscious, but surely the Inquisition’s forces could not have made it too far from the ruins of Haven, not when they had to move hundreds of people, both healthy and wounded, and haul several wagons full of supplies though the heavy mountain snows. Or at least, she hoped not. She did not know where the path Chancellor Roderick had spoken of was to be found. She did not even know if she would be able to find her way out of these tunnels, but she supposed there was only one way to find out.

Aili staggered to her feet, gasping out a cry of high pitched agony as a white-hot pain shot up her leg, nearly collapsing as it buckled beneath her weight. She clenched her jaw stubbornly as she limped over to the wall of the cavern, leaning heavily on the rough cut stone as she pulled herself towards what looked like a doorway.

She thought she was done for when she ran into a few wandering wisps and demons down one of the long winding passages, but the anchor had flared to life in her hand when she had tried to summon her magic, stunning the creatures and slowly dragging them back into the Fade. _That_ was a new trick. She was unsure she liked the implications of her newfound talent, but it was something to worry about later.

For now, she had more pressing concerns, such as the vast snow covered wilderness spreading out before her, and the howling winds that sliced through her leather armor as though it were no thicker than Antivan lace, chilling her to the bone. For the first time in her life, she was glad to be wearing closed toe boots. Her feet might not be very warm, but at least they were still dry…for now.

It wasn’t long before her entire body was stiff from the biting cold, her hands and feet gone numb and clumsy. The only things she could truly feel were the violent chattering of her teeth and the constant dull throbbing of her injuries. The frigid gusts of mountain wind screamed through the trees, making her painfully aware of the large tear in the left sleeve of her armor. She shuddered and tried to pull it closed feebly, gritting her teeth at the pain in her arm, vaguely wishing she still had her staff to lean on.

It was easy to let her mind wander out here in the dark. There was no possible way for her to track her comrades’ progress in the billowing knee-high banks of snow, there had been a ruined wagon near the exit of the tunnels and, with no better ideas on which way to go, she had been stumbling in the same general direction ever since.

Trudging slowly through the blinding snow in the blue-black shadows of the mountain forest at night with a thin crust of ice accumulating in her hair and eyelashes and her sensitive ears burning painfully with cold, Aili’s thoughts turned longingly to memories of fire.

At first it was the campfire she had shared with her parents during their evening meal, tucked between their warm bodies, small and safe and loved, listening to them discuss the day’s events with other families nearby. The sounds of broken Elvhen mixing with common, of laughter and singing and stories that told her who she was and who she belonged to. The smells of leather and herbs and halla had mingled with the campfire smoke, crafting the unforgettable scent of home.

She thought of the long nights full of raucous laughter when she and Daewyn had snuck off into the woods with their other friends for revels, all of them thick as thieves as they sprawled around the campfire, taking long pulls from ‘borrowed’ wineskins and swapping the same scary stories about demons and Fen’Harel that they’d all grown up with, bragging and arguing about which one of them would someday rekindle the strength of their people. They had fallen asleep out there more than once, to the consternation of their Keeper, groups of them all piled together under whatever pelts they had brought with them. Headstrong and overconfident with the arrogance of youth, they had believed that nothing in Thedas could have stood against them, so long as they stood together. They would all be contrite under the disapproving glare of Keeper Deshanna the next morning, but none of them were ever sorry enough not to do it again.

Aili found herself aching for them, for all of them, in a way she had scarcely allowed herself to since she had been dragged into joining the Inquisition. She missed her father’s voice waking her up in the mornings and her mother singing to her at night. She missed Keeper Deshanna’s lectures and Hahren Thaeron’s stories. She missed her friends  Ishanni and Vaenya, and their constant bickering and teasing over absolutely everything under the sun. And most of all she missed Daewyn, with his sharp eyes and his crooked grin, and his terrible sense of humor. He would have wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her walk, cracking wise about how ‘lame’ she was while his keen senses searched for the right path through the storm; he would never have let her give up.

She would have given almost anything to have even one of them by her side, for a warm hand to reach out for her in the darkness, to know that she was not alone.

Aili’s limbs felt as cold and heavy as lead, and she could barely find the strength to continue her limping shuffle towards the icy horizon. And she was tired, tried enough that if she stopped moving for more than a few moments it was likely she would never move again. Just keeping her bleary sleep-starved  eyes open against the biting gusts of freezing wind while flecks of snow billowed into her face was a battle all on its own.

A few feet more and her ankle finally gave out, unable to bear her weight and the walking any longer, and Aili landed heavily in the snow. She struggled to rise, and found that with only one working arm and almost no energy left in the mangled bruise her body had become, there would be no getting back on her feet any time soon. Shuddering and hopeless, she let out a strangled scream of frustration and despair.

She did not want to die. Not like this. Not in this cold and vacant place, bereft of even the simple comfort of a friend.  

Inexplicably, she found her thoughts turning to Solas, as they seemed to more and more of late. She pictured the way his blue eyes squinted slightly when he tilted his head to one side and smiled at her knowingly. She remembered the sound of his laugh, a little huffing sort of chuckle with an occasional light snort, and the way his face lit up when she asked him questions about something he was truly interested in, his freckles more prominent against his pale skin in the cold mountain sunlight. She thought of his pensive frown. His snarling discontent. The soft expression she caught sometimes when he called her _Lethallan_. He had become the hand at her back, solid and grounding. He was her confidant, her advisor, and one of her dearest companions, and…and she _wanted_ him.

She wanted to listen the rhythmic way he spoke, the even tempo mesmerizing her as he painted pictures with fluid words of ruins and battlefields and ancient cultures lost to the relentless march of time. She wanted to ease the rigid line of his shoulders with casual acts of kindness, and erase the hints of loneliness that lurked in the lines around his mouth and eyes. She wanted him to laugh more, until his sides hurt, until he was dizzy with it, and she wanted to be the cause of that laughter. She wanted to reach across the distance in his wistful gaze and touch the place where he was hurting. She wanted to hold him and be held by him, fiercely and without end. She wanted him beside her now, out here in the infinite dark, so she would not be alone as her body slowly failed her.

It seem incredibly unfair that she only realized what she had been trying to dismiss as a silly infatuation with him was actually something more when she was about to die. And it was _so_ much more.

Lying face down in the snow, Aili’s shoulders shook with silent wracking sobs as she broke down into a mess of hot choking tears that scorched their way down her cheeks, dampening the sleeve of her tunic as she tucked her face into the crook of her elbow, the salt stinging in the deep cracks of her wind-chapped lips. There was no one left to be strong for, not even herself. There was no one here to judge her. There was no reason to shy away from the aching truth of her own heart.

She was in love with Solas. Stupidly desperately amazingly in love with him. In a way she had never loved anyone else in her entire life. And it was beautiful. And it was _terrifying_. And she was going to die out here in the drifting snow before she ever got the chance to tell him.

The storm clouds finally broke overhead and as the bright moon painted long blue and silver patterns on the snow, a wolf’s lonesome bay rang through the tree tops from somewhere high up in the rocky crags, sad and searching. Aili’s heart leapt in her throat and a chill that had nothing to do with the cold trembled down her spine. Sure enough, a chorus of replies rose up out of the frigid night air moments later, as the woods surrounding her suddenly came alive with the haunting song of the rest of the pack as they called back to their own.

Aili was uncertain if she should laugh or cry. Here she had been lamenting her impending death from the cold, and now she might get torn to pieces by wild animals first. She did not know which end sounded less appealing.

She had never been particularly afraid of wolves, despite the Elvhen lore connecting them to their trickster god. They were not unlike the Dalish, in their way. They were fierce and loyal, protecting their pack, their clan, while constantly being misconstrued as savage, mindless beasts by those who never took the time to understand them. One of the older hunters of her clan had even bonded with one in the days of his youth, like the Emerald Knights of lore, and when she was little she had often mused on idle fantasies of earning the loyalty of such a creature.

Injured and alone, with barely any magic at her disposal, it was another situation entirely. The dense shifting shadows of the forest felt like they were full of hungry eyes, waiting to see if she would rise, if she was truly as helpless as she appeared. She swallowed thickly, her heartbeat hammering loudly in her ears.

Aili clawed and kicked her way along the ground through the snow, breathless with the effort after only moving a few feet away from where she had collapsed. If she was going to get eaten, she was at least going to make them work for it.

’ _Ghilan’nain,’_ she prayed silently, gritting her teeth and breathing sharply through her nose. _’I bare your markings and swore to honor you all my life. Halla-mother, guide me out of darkness. There is so much more I want to do for our people.’_

A twig snapped somewhere to the left of her, the outline of something huge and shaggy slinking in and out from the trunks of distant trees.

 _‘Mythal, grant me mercy,’_ she continued, every muscle in her body burning with the strain of scrabbling onward, though she hardly seemed to move. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, sending blood dribbling down her chin _. ‘I have always followed the old ways as best I knew how. As you are just, shield your daughter from this senseless death.’_

She was beginning to lose consciousness, the mark crackled to life in her palm, sending another surge of pain tearing up the muscles of her arm. The shadow in the trees stopped a few yards away as she screamed. From what she could see through her tears, its form appeared vaguely canine. Its gazed burned like Veilfire.

Aili grimaced. Of course he was the only god who heard her. After all, he was the only one left.

“Come to claim your prize, _Harellan_?” She hissed with the last of her strength, baring her slightly bloodied teeth at the phantom beast. “So be it. If I’m going to be killed by a god, it should at least be one of my own.”

The longer she stared at the shadow, the darker the rest of the world became. Her head was swimming.

Her voice came out as little more than a rasping whisper, but she fought to have her final words. She would not lay down meekly and wait for death. “I thought Fen'Harel was better than a scavenger. Have you grown so old and feeble that you only hunt us when another would-be god has done most of the dirty work for you? Where are your fangs now, Wolf?” She coughed weakly, spitting out a mouthful of fresh blood. “Where is your _pride_?”

The shadow’s eyes blazed as her vision failed her, but for half a moment she could have sworn they softened to a familiar stormy blue.

“…Solas?”

The world went black and she knew no more.

* * *

  
Solas was abruptly pulled from the Fade by the sounds of Cullen shifting things around noisily in the tent that they were both meant to share with Varric due to the sudden shortage of supplies. He shot an irritated frown at the Commander, rubbing his face with one hand, trying to pinpoint the location he had sensed the Herald’s presence. Surely it could not have been far, perhaps he could-

“I don’t know how you can sleep at a time like this,” Cullen said gruffly. “We need as many pairs of eyes as we can get out looking for the Herald.”

“I _was_ looking for her,” Solas replied curtly, rising from his bedroll and grabbing his staff before striding out of the tent. He usually had no issue with Cullen, he was an honest and honorable man, despite his former occupation, but he had little patience for contending with the man’s raw sense of worry when Aili might be dying in the snow.

“Solas,” Cullen called after him, hastening to match his pace as he headed towards the edge of camp. “Forgive me, I fear this entire situation has-”

“Enough. There is no need to apologize.” Solas said, possibly a bit harsher than was strictly necessary. His heaved a sigh. “It seems neither of us are at our most courteous at present.”

“As you say,” Cullen replied with a thin smile, raising his arm to rub at the back of his neck. “So…did you find the Herald? Did any of your…”

“Friends,” Solas supplied brusquely when the Commander seemed to struggle to find an inoffensive way to mention the spirits he so frequently conversed with.

“Right,” Cullen conceded, frowning uncomfortably at the idea of it. “Did any of them know where she is?”

“I believe I have a general sense of her position,” Solas told him, analyzing the Fereldan with a brief glance before returning his gaze to the tree line. “However, it is difficult to be completely certain about such things. She was not asleep, and though that is good in the sense that it means she is still alive and conscious for the time being, it does make tracing her location through the Fade somewhat more difficult.”

“Can you track down anyone through the Fade?” Cullen asked with an air of slightly horrified awe.

“Presumably,” Solas responded with a tight shrug of his shoulders. “It can be a difficult process, and it helps if I know who I am searching for personally, as understanding something’s nature is a crucial part of locating anything one seeks in the Fade. I doubt I would have much luck finding a Tranquil or a dwarf, as they have been severed from their dreams. The Herald is a special case, as you might imagine. The mark she bares garners attention on both sides of the Veil.”

“The spirits watch her?” Cullen balked, his mounting unease at the idea scrawled boldly across his handsome features. “Why?”

“The same reason anyone watches the Herald,” Solas said, flashing the Commander a meaningful half smile, “because she is fascinating.”  

Cullen sputtered something that could have been anything from a fervent protestation to several garbled passages from the Chant of Light. Solas barely heard him, all of his attention fixed on a slender figure staggering out of the trees near the edge of camp before collapsing into the snow.

“There,” Solas said, striding forward as fast as his legs would carry him without breaking into a run, not bothering to see if the Commander was following him.

Cullen sprinted past him, pulling off his fur trimmed cloak as he went, all but throwing himself to his knees at the elven woman’s side. For it was indeed their Herald of Andraste, groggy and half frozen, but miraculously alive. Solas heaved a deep sigh as a surge of relief washed over him, he had not be certain the homing  spell he had used to guide her to the camp would work. It was usually only effective for calling lesser spirits, and occasionally people who were naturally complacent or simple-minded. A willful, intelligent being could often sense the manipulation and struggled against it, but Aili must have been too weak to notice the magic pulling at her.

He reached them just as Cullen stood up to carry her back towards the camp, the shivering Dalish woman in his arms looking impossibly small and frail as she was nearly swallowed whole by the voluminous folds of the Commander’s crimson coat. Her violet eyes found him in the semidarkness, and something in her seemed to break at the sight of him, her whole face crumpling into open agonized relief.

“Solas,” she croaked out, wriggling in Cullen’s grasp, trying to free a hand to reach for him. He placed a hand against her cheek to still her and warmed it with a flare of magic, smiling as she sighed and visibly relaxed into his palm.

“Rest easy, Lethallan,” he said gently, his voice low, his fingers thoughtlessly caressing her brow, soothing both of them. “You are safe now.”

“We should get her someplace warm,” Cullen said stiffly, a hint of something like disappointment furrowing his brow.

“Yes,” Solas agreed readily, choosing to ignore the other man’s abrupt slide into sullenness. “Perhaps we should settle her in our tent for the time being. All of my supplies are there, and I would like to asses her injuries myself.”

“Of course,” Cullen replied with a faint nod, turning and stalking back towards the camp with his precious cargo still clasped firmly to his chest.

After fighting through a throng of exalting friends and followers, the trio finally made it back into the relative warmth of the tent. Cullen laid Aili down on Solas’ bedroll without a word, carefully freeing her from the confines of his cloak and pulling over various pelts and blankets from all of their bedding to cover her.

Solas hovered behind him silently, waiting for the chance to attend to his patient.  
Cullen rose to his feet awkwardly, raking one hand through his golden curls and looking down at the barely conscious  woman with an expression like he was chewing a tough piece of meat.

“I…should discuss our next move with Cassandra and the others,” He said gruffly, pulling his coat back on, his gaze still fixed on Aili. “Take care of her.”

Solas nodded, stepping to one side so that the Commander could reach the opening of the tent. He shook his head slightly, smiling at the other man’s apparent misconception.

Cullen was almost as embarrassingly inept at masking his feelings as Aili was at picking up on them, and Solas was uncertain if he found the way they clumsily circled around each other amusing or sad. The Commander was quietly but noticeably smitten with her, and Aili was obliviously charming and just as friendly towards him as she was to anyone else.

Solas had a certain amount of pity for Cullen, as it was not difficult to imagine finding himself in a similar predicament if he had not known better. Luckily for everyone involved, he was painfully aware of the boundaries that needed to be maintained in his relationship with the Herald, and he reminded himself of them almost daily. It was true that he and Aili had become fast friends in the weeks they had spent travelling together, but anything more than that would have been reckless and ill-conceived on his part, and possibly even cruel.  

Still, he could not deny that she was one of the most remarkable people he had ever met. A blazing ember in a dying fire. So much of this world was broken, little more than shadows of what had come before, but she was…vibrant. Silly and stubborn and candid to a fault. Headstrong, but thoughtful. Teasing, but kind. Her sorrow as swift and roiling as a summer storm. Her laughter like sunlight dancing over water. It was impossible not to care for her, and there were times when she looked at him and he was almost certain-

Solas shook his head vehemently to rid himself of such thoughts, an exasperated sigh rattling past his lips as he sat down at Aili’s bedside. She deserved whatever happiness she could find, and he was the last man in Thedas who could grant her such a thing. Sweet young hearts were not meant for jaded old men.

He hesitated a moment, studying her face, considering how much liberty he had as a healer to touch her. He needed to think of what was appropriate as a concerned friend, and what might overstep his bounds. He finally allowed himself to reach over and smooth a few pale curls back from her face carefully before moving his fingers to her throat to check her pulse. It was strong and steady, which eased some small fraction of his anxieties. However, she was still trembling violently and her breathing was reedy and broken by frequent whimpers of quiet pain. Her skin was like ice beneath his fingertips.

Making sure to move as few of her covers as possible, Solas slid his hands under the pile of wool and fur to remove Aili’s boots. Her feet were cold and swollen, and her left ankle was ringed with ugly mottled bruises, but at least she seemed to be free of frostbite. He held each foot between his palms in turn, warming them with magic and beginning the process of healing her injuries.

Ever so slowly, the tension bled from her body, her breath evening out as the pain lessened. The familiar healthy glow returned to her cheeks and, perhaps finally feeling safe once more, Aili seemed to drift asleep. Solas smiled down at her, satisfied with his work as took her left hand gently in both of his to check the mark’s stability.

The smile quickly slid from his face as he inspected her hand. The anchor was stronger, almost too strong for him to suppress its magic. And it had begun spreading once more.

“I’m…not sure what he did to it.” Aili rasped from under her mountain of covers, making him start.

“You should be sleeping, Lethallan.” Solas admonished her quietly, striving to conceal the depth of his dismay. What if Corypheus had damaged the mark in some irreparable way? What if it incapacitated her before she had the chance to stop him and reclaim the orb? _What if it killed her?_

Solas swallowed thickly, returning his gaze to the mark as he tucked her hand back under the blankets.

“He said…I stole the mark,” Aili continued, her eyes slipping shut again, her speech slightly slurred with sleep. “But…I still don’t remember what happened.”

“However you acquired it, I am certain it was unintentional,” Solas reassured her, the smile on his face as thin and bitter as a knife’s edge. “I cannot imagine you had any interest in tearing down the Veil.”

“Not particularly, no.” Aili replied with a tired huff of amusement. She did not see his pensive frown as he looked down at her, melancholy stooping his shoulders and an unmistakable longing in his eyes.

He wished it were possible for her to understand what the world had been. What they had lost. What he had done. As miraculous as she was now, she could have been so much more. She _should_ have been more. …and he had stolen it from her.

“I should let you rest,” Solas said finally, his voice catching slightly in his throat. He stiffly got to his knees, making a move to rise.

“Wait!” She called after him in a panic, her amethyst eyes flashing open as she struggled to sit up. He reached out to steady her, returning to his place at her side. “Stay. Please, stay. I…I think I went a bit mad out there in the woods. I thought I saw things and… and I don’t want to be alone. Please, Solas.”

“If you wish,” he complied with a faint smile, one brow quirking slightly. “Though I fear I am a poor guard against nightmares…at least while I am awake.”

“Are you suggesting we sleep together?” Aili laughed, visibly relaxing once more.

Solas snorted in reply, glad to see her acting more like herself, “Hardly.”

Their eyes met, and somewhere within the span of those few heartbeats, something sparked between them, something soft and blooming and impossible. Aili’s mouth twitched upwards into a hesitant smile, a slight blush rising in her cheeks, her eyes alight with a thousand unasked questions. Solas looked away quickly, choosing to shift his gaze down to where his hands lay folded neatly in his lap, frowning as he tried to ignore the sudden thundering of his heart. He felt a faint burning heat creep up his neck to the tips of his ears.

This could not be happening.

“Solas?” Aili had a way of saying his name with such aching hope. He glanced back up at her questioningly. “Can I… That is, will you hold my hand again? Just until I fall asleep.”

He held her gaze this time, trying to determine the motives behind her request and weighing how much it might cost him in the war against his steadily growing regard for her. She seemed to sense his apprehension.

“I thought I was going to die out there in the snow.” Aili confessed quietly. “Every time I close my eyes, it feels like I’m back there, drifting away, wounded and freezing and all alone. At one point I was certain I was going to-” She bit her lip and glanced away. “I’m sorry. It sounds childish to say it out loud. The mighty Herald of Andraste: afraid of the dark.”

Solas slipped one hand beneath the covers and took her hand in his own without a word, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze. She returned the gesture weakly, a small smile unfurling across her face like a shaft of warm sunlight through the clouds.

“Thank you, Solas.” She murmured in sleepy contentment.

“It is nothing.” He was uncertain if he which one of them he was trying to convince.

“Not just for this,” she told him slowly, her eyelids drooping as she fought to stay awake long enough to finish her thought. “For approaching the Inquisition at Haven when anyone else would have run away. For stopping the mark from killing me before I even woke up. For offering good counsel when I needed it. For putting up with my inane questions and my bad jokes. For…well, _existing_ really. I’m not sure what I…I mean, what the Inquisition would have done without you. I…I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you stayed.”

He ran his thumb over the back of her hand soothingly, offering her a comforting smile even as a pang of guilt thrummed in his chest.

“As am I.”

* * *

  
Out near one of the larger campfires, completely unnoticed by the soldiers and craftsmen and the swarms of the desperate and the faithful, a pale gangly youth suddenly turned his attention away from the dying man he had helped carry away from Haven. His watery blue eyes fixed on intently on the tent that the two elves were occupying, a thin smile peeking out from beneath the broad brim of his floppy hat like a crescent moon as he tilted his head to one side, listening. He whispered their secret into the cold mountain air, watching it leave his mouth in a warm vaporous puff and dissipate into the night sky.

“ _Vhenan_.”  


	6. Aneth ara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for an almost kiss.

Solas nearly jumped out of his skin when the door to the rotunda slammed open, causing him to slop a healthy amount of bright scarlet paint over both of his hands as well as down the front of his tunic. He didn't even have a chance to voice his ire with the vehement string of Elvhen curses that were dancing on the tip of his tongue before a petite feminine form launched itself into his arms at full speed.

"Solas!" Aili exulted loudly, startling Leliana's crows up in their rookery as she used the momentum from her previous exuberant barrage to twirl them both around in a clumsy wobbling half circle. "They're _alive!_ "

"Who is alive, Lethallan?" Solas finally managed to ask when she released him from the crushing loop of her embrace in favor of taking him by both paint-covered hands and continuing to lead him around his study in a swinging, faltering, and occasionally tripping sort of dance as some kind of strange enthusiastic testament to her joy.

"My clan!" She chirped happily, smiling from ear to ear, her violet eyes sparkling with unbridled delight. "Cullen got the report this morning. They lost two hunters before our troops got there, and a few more were injured when they went to hunt down the so-called 'bandits', but everyone else is safe. They're safe! Safe safe _safe_!"

Aili let go of one of his hands and spun into him, laughing deliriously when she accidently ran into his chest. Solas grunted at the unexpected impact, steadying her as she stumbled a half step away.

"And such a victory can only be celebrated with dancing?" He surmised with a knowing grin, completely forgetting to let go of her hand. They were both an absolute ruin of crumpled clothing and red paint.

"Naturally!" Aili beamed, still chuckling to herself. "I kissed Cullen when he told me. You should have seen the look on his face!"

"Is that so?" Solas said quietly, something cool and closing sneaking across his features, his tone carefully neutral. He let go of her hand.

"Right on the cheek, in front of everyone!" Aili snorted, oblivious in her good humor. "I swear the man is secretly terrified of me. It must be all that Templar training that makes him extra jumpy around mages. Truly, he looked like he soiled his smallclothes."

Solas smiled and shook his head at her, the strange tightness in his chest easing slightly at her words.

"You should not tease him so, Lethallan," he chided her gently. "I doubt Fereldans are accustomed to such openly affectionate displays of gratitude."

"You think I offended him?" Aili asked, deflating somewhat as she began fretfully twisting her fingers together. "I only wanted to thank him!"

She bit her lip, her eyes flicking back towards the door she had come in through, her brows knitting with fresh anxiety.

Solas found his gaze drawn to her mouth, watching her worry her bottom lip until it was the color of a ripened raspberry. There were bits of pastry on one of her cheeks, along with what appeared to be a generous dollop of honey. Without thinking, he reached out to touch her face, swiping ineffectually at the remnants of what had likely been her breakfast with his thumb, smearing the line of her jaw with dabs of crimson paint instead.

Aili started at the sudden contact, but did not pull away. She blinked up at him, her amethyst eyes bright and questioning, her lips parting slightly. There were so many things suspended in the air between them, waiting with bated breath to be said aloud, yet she held her tongue. There was some strange magic in the silence hanging between them, and neither of them seemed daring enough to break it. For weeks now they had slowly but surely begun drawing nearer to each other, like two celestial bodies caught in a decaying orbit. Every not quite accidental touch, every private joke or whispered conference, every over-warm glance that lingered a bit too long to retain its innocence drew them nearer to what was looking more and more like an inevitable collision.

Solas felt her breath fan across his lips and inhaled sharply through his nose. When had he moved so close to her? He could smell the faint hint of honey on her breath. It would be so easy to remove those last few inches of space between them, to taste her sweetness and her joy, and to take part in them. He found himself bending towards her as naturally as a flower grows towards sunshine, yearning to catch her in his own fire, to ignite them both and burn away the mistakes of the past. He was distantly aware that kissing her would be an irredeemable blunder in the grand scheme of things, but her kindness was such a tempting succor to surrender to. A veritable feast hovering just beyond the reach of his famished heart.

The tips of their noses brushed one another lightly and he heard Aili's breath hitch in her throat. Her gaze lifted to meet his, and held him more securely than any spell she could have cast. Wide and slightly slanting, her eyes were the soft hazy violet of gathering twilight, glittering faintly in the guttering candlelight like a pair of gemstones. The way she looked at him was soulful and searching, and for the briefest moment, just the tiniest bit afraid. It was enough to save them both.

Solas pulled away, his smile edged with trace amounts of guilt as he swiped at her cheek one last time. Aili blinked like she was coming up for air after a long dive into unknown waters.

"Solas…what?" she began dazedly, trying to piece together what had almost happened.

"There was something on your face," he informed her, chuckling ruefully as he finally took note of the paint he had rubbed on her. "And I fear I have made it worse."

"O-oh," she stammered, wiping at her face with her sleeve to remove whatever mess might remain. She cringed when she took stock of the wide stripes of red paint covering both of them. "I see you were painting."

"Yes, I was just adding a few last touches when you arrived," Solas told her, glancing back at the fresco of Haven burning.

"It's beautiful," Aili said with a smile, coming to stand at his side to observe his work. She turned to him after a few moments of quiet appreciation, concern furrowing her brow once again. "You don't really think Cullen is mad at me, do you?"

"I imagine he is rather flustered, but I doubt you have truly offended him," Solas reassured her. "Indeed, I believe you may find there are few men who would not rejoice at such a manner of thanks. For instance, the Commander may well go beyond the call of duty in an attempt to garner another sign of such appreciation."

"Cullen...always does his best," Aili agreed uncertainly, sounding a trifle confused, "but you were right. Fereldans are more reserved with touching and things, and I should have been more sensitive to his personal boundaries. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

Solas sighed, shaking his head and smiling at her hopelessness. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn she was willfully obtuse in regards to her own charms.

"So…what about you?" Aili asked.

"What about me?" Solas replied, arching a brow and tilting his head slightly to one side.

"You said most men would like getting a kiss as a thank you," she explained, the color rising in her face. "Would…would you like something like that? To be thanked that way, I mean."

"Hm, I supposed it would depend on what I was being thanked for," Solas answered, one corner of his mouth twitching upward in amusement. He gave her a meaningful glance, "And who was doing the thanking."

"I…I see," Aili told him, though it was perfectly evident by the crease in her brow that she did not see at all. Solas had to bite back a laugh as he watched the implications of his words go sailing over her head. She was usually so perceptive when it came to reading people, the gift was prevalent in all matters save one it would seem. She was clearly just as ignorant of his growing regard for her as she was to Cullen's. It was a small mercy. He wasn't certain he had to power to refuse her if she pursued him in earnest.

He reached out and touched her hand lightly, curling his long fingers loosely around her slender palm, wishing for more than he could ask for. He may have been cringing internally at his selfishness, but the smile he gave her was tender and genuine.

"I am glad to hear that your family is safe, Lethallan," he said, his voice grown soft and sincere. She squeezed his hand and flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Ma serannas, Lethallin." She glanced back at his fresco. "Are you going to keep painting?"

"I still have a few details to add before it is completed," he informed her. "I need to finish it before the plaster dries."

"Can I stay and watch?" she asked eagerly. He chuckled at her enthusiasm, pleased at her interest.

"Of course."

* * *

 

"My my, what do we have here?" Dorian mused in a low voice, leaning over the banister of the library on the second floor of the rotunda, arching a brow and stroking his he goatee thoughtfully as he peered down at the two elves in the study below. He had heard Aili's earlier excitement, but there was nothing particularly strange about the Dalish woman bouncing off the walls when she was happy. He had been far more intrigued by the sudden drop into hushed tones that had come a few minutes later, and the silence that had followed. And here they were: the strangest pair of turtle doves he'd ever laid eyes upon, or at least they would be, if one of them could be prevailed upon to return the other's affections.

"Wot?" Sera asked thickly through a mouthful of blueberry tart, taking a break from her task of cramming rude drawings into all of the Inquisition's dullest looking tomes in favor of joining the Tevinter mage at the railing. She shot him a puzzled frown when she saw what he was looking at, half her dessert still in one hand, oozing deep purple juices through her fingers. "So? S'just Aili and Solas. Probably talking 'bout boring elfy shite, as usual."

"Is that all you see?" Dorian asked with a knowing grin as Aili scooched her chair closer to where Solas was painting, leaning towards him as much as she could without disturbing his work. Solas took note of her proximity, pausing long enough to bend down and whisper something in her ear, making her laugh.

"Elfie's got it bad for the Inquisitor, yeah?" Sera scoffed, "So what else is new? Cullen's got more hero-y…ness. And hair. He'll win her over, you watch. Sweep her off her feet all proper-like."

"I admit, the Commander is rather fetching, in a rough backwater kind of way," Dorian agreed, "but I'm afraid Aili would have to stop making doe-eyes at our Fade expert for longer than two minutes in order to actually notice the poor man."

Sera blew a disgusted raspberry, her face scrunching up in obvious distaste, "There's no way, Aili'd be into that dusty old fart, she's too much fun."

"Stranger things have happened," the Altus replied with a laugh. "I think you've mistaken Solas' interest though. It seems more likely that he is aware of her interest and wants to avoid hurting her feelings. He could certainly spare us all this awkward posturing and just tell her though, the Inquisitor isn't exactly adept at subtlety."

"For someone so smart, you sure are dumb sometimes, yeah?" Sera laughed, shaking her head. She gestured down at the first floor with the dripping remnants of her blueberry tart, drawing attention to Solas as he moved past the Inquisitor to get something off his desk, casually placing a hand on Aili's shoulder in passing, breaking her gaze from his fresco long enough to flash him a smile. "He touches her, yeah? Like, _all_ the bloody time. When she's angry. When she's hurt. When he won't shut up about the stupid Fade. And sometimes for no reason at all, just 'cause he wants to. There's only one reason someone who's laced up as tight as him does that sort of thing, and it isn't to let her down easy, yeah? But Aili's like that with everyone, grabby hands and huggy arms, always up in your business. It doesn't mean the same when she does it."

"That is…remarkably astute of you," Dorian admitted, sounding impressed.

"Who's got arse toots?" Sera asked, scowling at him in suspicion.

" _Astute_. It means you're observant," Dorian sniggered. "I suppose it's just hard to imagine Solas being interested in anyone. And the Inquisitor seems a bit… _young_ for him."

"Right?" Sera snorted, "Don't even want to think about him trying to kiss someone. There's only one part of him that knows how to pucker, yeah? And it isn't his mouth." She gave a rippling peal of laughter at her own wit. Dorian groaned.

" _Ma vhenan ghilana_ ," came a soft voice from Dorian's right as Cole materialized from seemingly nowhere, sitting precariously on the railing, swinging his long legs back and forth. Sera gave a strangled yelp of alarm, instantly backing away from the spirit boy.

"Bloody creepy thing!" she sputtered crossly. "I _hate_ it when it does that."

"What were you saying, Cole?" Dorian asked, turning his attention to their news companion. "That sounded like something Elvhen."

"Eyes bright and brimming and so beautiful. An old song blossoming into something new, because _you_ make it new, you make it _real_. Warm summer light sifting through leaves, blinding and hopeful, tumbling and soft. Like rain making ripples in a quiet pond and the smell of spring. Falling, feeling, faltering faith. _Why did I find you here_?"

"And those are…the Inquisitor's thoughts?" Dorian guessed, basing his estimation of his own hunch.

"Yes?" Cole said, sounding a bit confused, as though it should be obvious.

"Ha!" Dorian crowed.

"Piss!" Sera groused, her face souring. She turned her gaze back to the elves on the first floor and found that Aili was smiling broadly, leaning much closer to Solas than was required for a friendly chat. The rogue made a noise of supreme disgust and disappointment at her friend's poor taste, hurling the remaining half of her blueberry tart down at the almost-couple.

There came a string of fervent cursing followed closely by the sound of Aili's laughter echoing off the chamber walls. Sera stayed just long enough to peer over the railing and take in the sight of Solas' bald head covered in purple juice and bits of pastry. She turned her head to Dorian, mischief burning in her eyes and a victorious grin pulling at her full lips.

"You did it!" She exclaimed, running up towards the door that lead back to the main hall from the library, laughing raucously the whole way.

"Who did that?" Solas fumed from below, making Dorian decide it was high time he made his own hasty exit, keeping far from the balcony as he edged towards the door in an attempt to avoid being seen.

"Come on," Aili said, still laughing as she took the older elf by the elbow and tugged him towards the door to the great hall on their level. "We should both probably get cleaned up."

Solas' expression softened as he allowed himself be led away, leaving no one in the rotunda except Leiana's crows and the strange pale boy still perched up on the railing of the second floor.

"It was both of you," Cole said to no one in particular, smiling faintly at the door the two elves had just left from, clicking his heels against the wooden beams of the balustrade. "I'm so afraid, but I want this; I want _you_. Despite everything. When did you begin to feel like home? _Emma lath…aneth ara_."


	7. Between the Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aili doesn't have copper marigolds, but she makes do. Awkward nerd wooing.

Solas had already knocked several times on the Inquisitor's door without receiving a reply before he finally decided to let himself in. He had confirmation from both Cullen and Josephine that the Dalish elf had all but scampered back to her quarters like an overzealous puppy when her advisors had given her the rest of the afternoon off to spend as she pleased. Apparently, whatever had gotten Aili so excited was also keeping her from answering the door.

"Lethallan?" he called out from the bottom of the short flight of stairs that led to the main portion of the room. Silence was his only answer. No, not complete silence. There was a soft noise floating down to him, like slow, even breathing.

Sure enough, Aili was on the floor, laying face down in a large leather-bound tome, her hand still gripping her quill loosely, her fingers smudged with ink. There was a vast ocean of parchment and books and scrolls cluttered around her in messy heaps; it looked as though a storm had blown through her room. Scattered notes covered every available surface, some in hastily scrawled Common, but most in shakily written Elvhen, covered in blots and cross-outs. The carpet was littered with partially empty ink bottles, one of which had been knocked over at some point, leaving a dark, telling stain in its wake. Josephine was going to be livid.

Now he knew why the Archivist had practically been in tears when Solas had asked for the tome about ancient temples located in the Brecillian forest. She must have been smuggling books up here for weeks. He sighed.

He attempted to step over a mountainous pile of dusty volumes that claimed to be about the Elvhen pantheon in front of her couch, and promptly trod on a previously abandoned quill, muttering a dark string of curses as it stabbed him directly in the soft flesh between his toes. He glared sharply back at the books which had concealed the secret weapon and was met with a crudely drawn portrait of Andruil smirking at him from one of the covers. It figured.

The noise woke the younger elf, and she groggily rubbed at her face, smearing a long trail of black ink across the bridge of her nose all the way down to the corner of her mouth. Her hair was severely mussed and her clothes were disheveled; Aili had never looked more the part of the 'Dalish Savage' than she did right now. She gave him a bleary smile.

"Aneth ara," she yawned. "What brings you here, Sol-" Aili broke away midsentence, the color draining from her face. Quick as lightening, one hand darted out to grab the sheet she had most recently be writing on and crumpled it behind her back. Her eyes flitted around the utter ruin of her room, guilt and embarrassment flooding her features, tinting her cheeks a blazing scarlet.

"Uh," she stuttered, "Y-you should go. I mean, l-leave." He frowned in concern, and she immediately began backpedalling. " _Fenehdis_ , I didn't mean Skyhold! Don't _leave_ leave! I j-just… Um, could you maybe...not be _here_? In my room. Just for now. Please?" She squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze and looked distinctly like a rabbit that had gotten caught in a snare.

"I can return later, if you wish," he assured her. "But may I inquire why you have taken to hoarding the Inquisition's books like a dragon with a pile of gold before I am ushered out?" He raised a brow curiously. Aili frowned down at the tome she had previously been using as a pillow, wiping a dirty hand on her trousers carelessly before reaching out and turning a page with an air of reverence.

"The Dalish… We don't really have a lot of books," she confessed sadly. "Not histories anyway. There was always a novel or two floating around somewhere. But the big old ones are hard to maintain out in the wild, and they take up space in an aravel that could be used to store more practical things, like weapons or food. The Clans pass them around when they meet up, but no one ever has more than two or three at a time. Keeper Deshanna managed to scrape together five all at once for a few years- two were even in Elvhen! …but we had to pass them on before I could finish translating them."

"How can the Dalish hope to learn Elvhen when you have no books?" he asked incredulously. She shot him an annoyed glower.

"Believe it or not, finding _anything_ written in Elvhen is difficult," she snapped, rolling her eyes at him. "Most humans didn't bother holding onto books they couldn't read, so even the majority of the ones that survived the fall of the empire are gone now. And most of the ones that weren't destroyed are probably in Tevinter, or tucked away in mage towers, or being used as Orlesian paperweights or something. The Dalish make use of whatever we can find. Which usually isn't much, but we make do. We can't _all_ learn Elvhen in the Fade."

"Ir abelas," Solas said hastily. "I meant to convey concern, not conceit." He gave another passing glance at the explosion of papers her room had become. "So…you are teaching yourself Elvhen?"

"I'm trying to," she confirmed with a dissatisfied frown. "Among other things, I wanted to compare the human histories with Elvhen texts, but…it isn't going very well. The Keeper was still teaching me before I left, since I only became First a few years ago. So, I understand more spoken Elvhen than I can read, and I can read more of it than I know how to write. Our language is beautiful, but the grammar is ridiculous. And why are these letters so complex?! It must have taken people half a morning just to write a simple note!"

Solas laughed and shook his head at her.

"I suppose being immortal must have made time a less valuable commodity," he said with a wide grin.

He crouched down on the floor in front of her, casually picking up one of the sheets of parchment she had written on. Her sentences were clunky and overtly direct, as a child's might be, but their meaning was still clear. That she had worked out this much largely on her own was impressive, and if the state of her room was any indication, she was clearly eager to learn. Solas smiled. It was a promising start, even if her handwriting was appalling.

"Would you like me to teach you?" he asked.

"Really?" She beamed at him. "That would be amazing!"

"What are you working on now? Perhaps I may be of assistance," he offered, leaning over to look at the open book she had been studying.

" _No!_ " Aili shouted, slamming the book shut with tremendous force before he could read more than two words. He furrowed his brows at her in confusion. She cleared her throat primly before continuing, "I mean, no, thank you, Solas. I was tinkering with a bit of a…uh…personal project. I want to finish it on my own."

"A personal project that must be written in Elvhen?" he inquired suspiciously.

"Yes. It's just... um, silly things about family and friends. You'd be bored. It's very boring and personal, you know." She told him nervously. Solas noticed that both of her hands were now desperately clutching the piece of parchment she was hiding behind her back.

"I would like to know more about your family," he said, smiling with feigned innocence. He leaned towards her, crowding her, thoroughly enjoying the panicked look in her eyes when she realized she had trapped herself.

She bit her lip and his gazed fixed on her mouth, remembering the taste of her, the gentleness accompanied by the sudden flare of heat that had passed between them. The Fade was meant to be _his_ realm, a place where he felt completely in control at all times, and she had found him, and changed him, and claimed him with a kiss, as though it were a simple thing. This strange little Dalish woman had snared him with an eager intellect, easy acceptance, and an inescapable sort of kindness, and on top of all of this, an innocent, bumbling, and alarmingly sincere affection for himself. He found he was both terrified and intrigued by her regard for him, and despite his better judgment, he knew he wanted to kiss her again.

"I could never think anything that was so clearly important to you was boring," he informed her in a low voice. "Let me help."

"W-when did you get so nosy?" She gulped nervously.

"When did you start trying to hide things from me?" he retorted, narrowing his eyes at her.

"So, I'm not allowed to keep things to myself anymore?" She frowned. "That's awfully presumptuous for a _friend_ , Solas."

"It might be," he agreed, "if you were anyone, _but_ yourself, Lethallan." He smirked at her. "You have been known to walk into camp sans clothing on occasion. Privacy hardly seems like a pressing concern for you."

"That was only _one_ time!" she protested hotly. "The Dalish don't care about nudity the same way the rest of you seem to. How was I supposed to know Cassandra would get her knickers in such a twist?"

"You should show him." said a quiet, steady voice.

Cole suddenly appeared on top of her desk in the corner of the room, perched like a strange pale gargoyle on a stack of papers. Aili yelped in surprise, but the spirit boy continued as though he hadn't heard her. "He'll laugh, but he'll like it. He needs the laughing and the light. They remind him that not everything is broken. The small, soft, sweet things will stay with him past everything."

" _No_ ," Aili hissed. "It isn't finished…and it isn't even _about_ him, and _Mythal's mercy- what are you doing?!"_

Cole had vanished and then reappeared in front of Solas with a crumpled piece of paper in his hands. The spirit looked down at it and smiled before offering it to him. He took it without comment, glancing down at the numerous blots and cross-outs that littered the page of poorly-written Elvhen.

"It has your name on it," Cole informed him cheerfully.

"N-no it doesn't!" Aili exclaimed, looking truly mortified. Cole tilted his head in confusion, peeking out at her from under his broad brimmed hat.

"Not in ink," the boy conceded, "but the words between the words; that's where the wishes are waiting. _'He sounds like these letters, like these phrases, a distant gentle murmur of a song I can't quite hear. Solas, Solas, Solas. Where do your eyes go when you think I'm not watching?'_ "

"COLE!" Aili roared in humiliation, lunging forward in order to physically restrain the blond boy from continuing. In less than an instant, the young man disappeared, causing the Dalish elf to crash headlong into her Fade expert instead, sending books and papers flying everywhere as they toppled to the floor.

Sitting out on the railing of her balcony, Cole insisted, "I _helped_. You'll see," before once more popping back out of sight.

"Elgar'nan's _ass_ ," the Dalish woman swore as she righted herself and glared out at her balcony. "I swear, if I didn't love that squirrelly little busybody, I'd wring his neck."

Solas was still on laying on a stack of scattered parchment, holding the sheet she had written on aloft with one hand. He was staring at it intently, as though trying to unlock its mysteries. Aili felt her heart plummet down into the pit of her stomach.

"Solas," she began pleadingly, "my wonderful kind friend...I will literally give you everything I own if you stop reading right now and pretend this entire conversation was just a horrific vision from the Fade."

"Your eyes...polish like the sun river?" Solas asked dubiously after several moments of silence.

"I-is that what it says?" she wondered, trying to laugh it off, but sounding more strangled than anything. "I thought... Oh Creators, it doesn't matter what I thought. If any of them have any sort of sympathy for the plight of the People, a rift will open up in my bedroom and swallow me whole." Several seconds passed without her prayer being answered, so Aili settled for burying her face in her hands.

"Your eyes polish like the sun river," Solas began again ruthlessly, amusement shaking through his voice. "Invite me to...the _bathroom_ and below? Your mouth's small knife. What do you know, a hundred ways to cut me out of company. His voice is like the heart of stars. Eternal said to me at night. Keep their hands a thousand storms... Their weapons are safe now?" he had to stop as he was overrun with laughter. He sat up so he could look her in the eye, grinning from ear to ear. "Lethallan...what _is_ this?"

"It...it's a _poem_ ," Aili admitted with a defeated sigh, her face more red than he could ever recall seeing it. "I know y-you asked for time to...consider things, b-but I just..." She buried her face in her hands again and groaned piteously. "Dread Wolf take it all, I just wanted you to know where I stood on the matter...in case you weren't sure."

"And where _do_ you stand, Inquisitor Lavellan?" he mocked her gently, a fond smile curling his lips.

"In a hip-deep pit of ignorance, it seems," she grumbled. "C-cassandra had this book, 'Swords and Shields' and-"

"That is the horrible romance that Varric wrote, is it not?" Solas interjected.

"It...it's horrible, then?" Aili asked, sounding disappointed and more than a little anxious. "The man in the story read poetry to the woman...and she seemed to like it, so..." Her amethyst eyes darted away from him, and she twisted her fingers together in her lap fretfully. "I...I've never tried to c-court someone before. In my clan, we give gifts. Simple useful things, food or clothing...but you don't really like Dalish traditions, and you don't really need anything. Nothing _I_ can give you anyway... This was a stupid idea."

"Perhaps," Solas said smilingly, "but it does not follow that it was necessarily a bad one." He returned his gaze to the verses in his hand. "There is one line at the end I am having a hard time making out, however," he informed her, squinting his eyes and bringing the page closer to his face for a more thorough inspection.

"Really?" Aili asked. "But I don't remember getting any farther than that… I fell asleep."

" _You…_ " he started, having switched to speaking in the language he was reading, " _Your butt…is good_?"

"I did _not_ write that!" Aili insisted desperately. "You're making that up!" He held the page out so that she could see the words that had clearly been penned by her own treacherous hand. She tried to snatch it back from him, but he was too quick for her.

"This belongs to me, if I'm not mistaken," Solas told her as he folded up the piece of paper into a neat square and tucked it into his tunic. "You were going to give it to me, were you not?"

"When it was _finished_!" Aili sputtered in horror. "Maybe not even then… I'm not- Wait. Y-you… _like_ it?"

"Well…it was certainly the most _unique_ attempt to garner my attention I have ever received," he said with a chuckle. He placed one hand over hers and smiled. "I am flattered that you thought of me, Lethallan."

Aili's face was burning brighter than a brazier.

"Y-you are either being impossibly nice, or you're trying to trick me into ignoring the fact that now you have something to blackmail me with," she muttered crossly.

"Perhaps a bit of both?" Solas replied with a teasing grin, slightly cocking his head to one side. He stood and made his way back towards the door, picking his way through the stacks of books as best he could. Aili stared after him apprehensively, waiting for the hammer to fall. He did not disappoint. As he reached the bottom of the stairs and was about to exit her quarters, he called up to her, "You must tell me what the poem was meant to say someday, Lethallan. In the meantime, I shall try to ensure that all of my… _assets_ remain pleasing to you."

" _Fenedhis lasa!_ " she yelled back at him, scrambling to chase him out, but he was already gone, his laughter floating back to her through the heavy wooden door.

* * *

**Aili's (intended) Poem** -

_'Your eyes gleam like a river in the sunshine_

_Beckoning me to wade into their depths_

_Your mouth is like a little knife_

_Which knows a hundred ways to cut me to the core_

_Your voice is like the breath of stars_

_Eternity whispering back to me at night_

_Your hands have held a thousand storms_

_But your arms are now a shelter'-_


	8. I'm Here for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 'All New Faded for Her". Aili tries to comfort Solas.

Aili hovered in the doorway to the rotunda with a covered tray in her hands, watching Solas as he contemplated a bare stretch of wall, his sketchbook laying open on his desk. His posture was stiff, the motions of his hand agitated and unhappy. He glanced back at the wall and then down at his drawing, his mouth puckering in a sour frown of dissatisfaction. His brow furrowed deeply as he heaved an aggravated sigh and tore the page out roughly, crumpling it in his hands before tossing it away.

"Was there something you needed, Lethallan?" he asked suddenly, his eyes never leaving his work as he began a new drawing.

"If you're busy, I can come back another time," Aili said uncertainly, taking a few hesitant steps into the room. "I don't want to bother you."

"You are no bother," he sighed, setting down the thin stick of graphite he had been sketching with. "I am simply…distracted. I am not certain I can be much use to you at present, but if you require my services, I will do my best to assist you."

"Please, Lethallin," she began thickly, her brows furrowing anxiously. "You just lost someone dear to you. You have every right to mourn them. Please don't feel like you have to force yourself to act like it doesn't bother you. Not with me."

"I…thank you," he stammered, the words catching slightly in his throat. "It is…difficult, but I would rather not dwell on it. I have already taken my time to grieve. If you have a question for me, it would be a welcome diversion from my own thoughts."

"I'm afraid I come bearing only friendly concern…and these," she set the wooden tray down on his desk and removed the covering, revealing a small plate piled high with desserts.

Solas' face froze in an expression of complete astonishment, his mouth gaped slightly and his blue eyes blinked in wonder at the sight before him. He glanced back up at her questioningly, clearly awaiting some sort of explanation.

"Y-you always offer to eat the extra servings from the dessert course," she stammered, fearing that she had picked the wrong thing to cheer him up. "I didn't know which one was your favorite though…so I just took one of everything."

"You stole these from the kitchen?" he asked with a huff of mild amusement.

"The Herald of Andraste doesn't _steal_ ," she told him, feigning offense. "I requisitioned them for the sake of furthering the goals of the Inquisition…without asking."

Solas laughed and shook his head at her. Aili beamed at him.

"It's good to see you smile again," she said earnestly, reaching out and placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"You make it difficult to steep myself in melancholy," he replied, his smile melting into softness, something bright and wincing flickering behind his gaze.

"Then you…aren't mad at me?" She asked tentatively. "For stopping you from hurting those mages?"

"They should have faced justice for what they did," Solas said, inhaling sharply through his nose. "But…you have a forgiving nature, and I do not begrudge your request that I spare them."

"I didn't do it for _them_ ," she exclaimed indignantly. "They were a bunch of ill-informed morons. But…they were also scared."

She held his gaze, sincerity and thinly veiled affection gleaming in her eyes as she continued softly. "They were scared and they did something stupid trying to save themselves. And their ignorance was born from years of Chantry oppression in what was arguably the most abusive and negligent Circle in Thedas. They deserved to be punished…but they didn't deserve to die. And I knew that if I could see that…eventually you would too. I didn't want you to bear the weight of their deaths along with everything else, and I imagine your friend wouldn't have wanted that for you either. They weren't worth it."

"You presume much," he told her stiffly, clenching his jaw and glancing away.

"I've seen you pity other enemies with crimes just as heinous," she pointed out. "Or did I just imagine that conversation you had with Bull about how everyone we face in battle has potential- how they are living people with hopes and dreams and families?"

"Perhaps…my anger clouded my judgement in this matter," Solas admitted pensively after a moment of silence, "but their actions still merited some sort of retribution."

"Which is precisely why they are sitting in one of Skyhold's prison cells being glared at by a pair of Cullen's Templars as we speak," she told him with an expectant grin.

"You…you arrested them?" he asked, his eyebrows rising in shock at the revelation.

"Of course I did," Aili shrugged, frowning slightly. "I couldn't just let them walk away after what they did. If nothing else, I had to make sure they couldn't hurt people anymore, spirit or otherwise. I've been waiting for you come back to pass judgement though."

"You have a sentence in mind, then?" he asked curiously.

"One or two," she confided with a grim smile. "My favorite involves digging latrines for our troops in the Fallow Mire."

He gave a snort of laughter and her expression softened into one of warm and open sympathy.

"I know it won't bring your friend back… Ir abelas, Lethallin." She made a gesture with her hand as though she wanted to touch him, but thought better of it. "You know…I'm here if you need me. Always. You don't have to grieve alone."

He reached out and took her hand loosely in his, smiling fondly as the color rose in her cheeks.

"I know now."


	9. Catch Your Scent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little drabble set right after "All New Faded for Her". Someone is falling (more) in love.   
> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

She tucked the woolen blanket around him carefully, fighting the urge to let her fingers linger longer than necessary when they came in contact with the slight swell of his bicep, the knot of his shoulder, the dip of his lean hips. He had fallen asleep in his study again, sprawled languidly across his couch. Even in sleep, sorrow had etched itself into his features, still mourning the loss of his friend. The weight of his grief felt like a ball of lead in her chest, solid, dark, and aching, rising up into her throat whenever their eyes met. She wanted so badly to hold him, to convey the sort of comfort that only comes from touch; a soft warm sense of belonging. But he had asked for time to consider their relationship, and time is what she was giving him. If only he would let her give him more.

"You are safe," she whispered to him, thinking of the Chantry priests who still gave her Fade expert dubious glances whenever they overheard them discussing magic.

"You are valued," she continued just as softly, remembering the numerous occasions he had been brushed aside and overlooked based solely on his modest attire and his pointed ears.

"You are _home_." Her voice broke on the last word, recalling the gnawing worry that had torn at her gut when he had not returned to their camp in the Exalted Plains, the bubbling panic when he was not at Skyhold to meet them, and the selfish sense of paralyzing loss when the realization struck her that she might never see him again.

She kissed her fingers and, not quite daring to touch his face, placed them lightly on the blackened wolf jaw where it lay over his heart.

"Ar lath ma, Solas." The words were his even if he would not have them. "Sleep well. May the Trickster never find you in the Beyond."

* * *

He waited until he heard her close the door softly behind her, listening as the light sounds of her footfalls trailed away into the Great Hall. Keeping his eyes closed, he pulled the blanket up to his nose with one hand and breathed deeply. The smell of lavender and fresh water washed over him, sweet and clean. He held it in his lungs until he was dizzy with it, as though it might purify him of all his past transgressions. Her words echoed in his head like the sound of the ocean, coming back to him again and again. They buoyed him up and away from his sadness, only to pull him back down into something darker, deeper, and infinitely more disastrous. She loved him. _She loved him_. He threw his arm across his face as a strangled bark of laughter broke past his lips. The Dread Wolf may have caught her scent, but it was _he_ who was ensnared.


	10. Desperately Wanting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts were: 'Being attracted to someone’s lips' and 'An overwhelming desire to kiss'

Aili studied the shape of Solas’ mouth intently, admiring the soft way his full lips shifted to form the lost words of their ancient tongue, the smooth timbre of his voice washing over her in a calming tide as he read aloud from the thick tome in his hands. 

They were sitting side by side on the couch in her bedchamber, indulging in their now weekly routine of Solas  giving her lessons Elvhen. He smelled faintly of old parchment and pine, along with something vaguely herbal which she attributed to simply being Solas. The scent reminded her of long afternoons spent out in the forest, studying old books ravenously while sprawled among the roots and leaves, listening to the distant sounds of the bustling Dalish camp nearby. It smelled like safety, and home, and simpler days, and it was difficult not to get lost in thoughts of falling into it, into him. Aili pressed as close to his side as she dared, with the pretense of reading the book he was holding, feeling the warmth of his body through their clothing as though it was hot enough to scald her. Her shoulder, elbow, hip and thigh buzzed at the relatively innocent contact, sending her heartbeat into an uneven gallop in her chest. Yet it was his mouth which truly captivated her, a fount of knowledge, considerate words, and witty retorts, tempting and torturous, as the enticing memories it conjured distracted Aili from the words he was trying to teach her.

It had been fifteen days since he kissed her out on the balcony. Fifteen days since he had admitted that he loved her and called her his heart. She was ecstatic. She was thrilled. She was…completely at a loss. 

Despite his confession, Solas continued to be…well… _Solas_. Beyond the occasional lingering touch, or a tender smile to express his pleasure at her company, nothing seemed to have changed between them. While it was wonderful to know that falling in love seemed unlikely to change either of their inherent natures, Aili had no prior experiences to work from, and was therefore uncertain if she was supposed to make the first move when she wanted intimacy, or if this was all she was to expect from their relationship.

Creators knew that she cared for the man, probably more than was wise to be perfectly honest, and she wished that simply being in his vicinity felt like enough to satisfy her desire to be closer to him. She didn’t want to pressure him into anything he was uncomfortable with, and it seemed as though the two times things had gotten physical had caused him no small amount of turmoil. She didn’t want to force something on him if he wasn’t interested, but Mythal’s _mercy_ did she want to kiss him again. 

Perhaps she was being too hasty about this. She had no idea what the normal pace was for a couple to begin growing close physically. It was also possible that Solas simply wanted to take his time. After all, he was the sort of man who wanted to make certain that a thing was done well if it was done at all. Or…maybe she was just a terrible kisser, and he was in no rush for a repeat performance of her ineptitude. She cringed inwardly at the thought of it.

“I fear I must be boring you,” Solas’ voice cut through the haze of her reverie as he closed the book in his lap with a dull thump.

“What?” Aili balked, blinking herself back into awareness, “Oh! No, I was paying attention!” 

Solas narrowed his eyes at her skeptically, the enticing curve of his lips thinning into a slight frown. 

“Vhenan, I have asked you the same question three times without receiving a reply,” he informed her after a slight pause, studying her face as though seeking some sort of explanation with one eyebrow arched expectantly.

“Oh,” she said, blushing a violent crimson, still unused to the casual endearment. “I-I’m sorry, Solas. I guess I just got a bit…distracted.”

“So I gathered,” he replied with a faint smile. “Your thoughts must linger on a matter of some importance if it takes your focus from our lesson. Usually you have the answers to my questions before I am half way through asking them. Is the problem something I can assist you with?”

“Ah. W-well, it isn’t a problem…exactly.” She mumbled, fiddling nervously with her hands, her eyes darting back to his mouth, trying very hard not to imagine just _how_ he could assist her. “And it isn’t important. I mean, it _is_ important. To me, that is. Just me. And I know it’s silly to be worrying about it because it’s stupid, and learning Elvhen is a much better use of our time and- and it shouldn’t be so distracting, but Mythal’enaste, I-”

“Aili,” he cut her off, reaching over and placing one hand on top of both of hers. “There is no need for such panic. Take a deep breath and, when you are ready, tell me what has caused you such diversion.”

“ _You_ ,” she blurted before she could think better of it. He blinked at her utter bewilderment, both eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Me?” he asked slowly, clearly mystified. “And what precisely have I done to lead your thoughts astray?”

“Well, it’s more about what you _haven’t_ been doing,” she confessed sheepishly. “Not that you have to do it if you don’t want to! But I don’t even know if you do want to. Or if you even like it. Or if I’m just bad at it. And…and you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” 

“Not in the slightest,” he admitted with a huff of laughter. 

Aili sputtered for a few moments, growing more and more flustered the longer Solas continued to stare at her. The words of her explanation were lost in the tide of her embarrassment, and she almost wanted to scream in frustration at her own awkwardness. She could face down a insane blighted Magister, conjure fire and lightening in her fist like it was nothing, and seal Fade rifts with one hand, but somehow finding the courage to be affectionate with the man she was crazy about seemed beyond her capabilities.

Solas cupped the side of her face with one hand, smoothing his thumb over the apple of her cheek gently. Aili leaned heavily into his touch, heaving an exasperated sigh. 

“Am I truly so frightening?” he whispered, a faint smile ghosting across the sweet temptation of his mouth as he leaned in close enough so that their foreheads were nearly touching. Aili swallowed thickly.

“You are…” She let the sentence trail away, uncertain how to finish her thought. They may not have been a couple for very long at this point, but he had been by her side since the day this madness her life had dissolved into had begun, calming and steady. He listened when she needed to talk. He offered advice when she asked for guidance. He had a quiet understated sort of kindness to him. And he was also prone to occasional bouts of  playfulness, a trait which seemed to become more prominent the more time they spent together, an observation she found both endearing and extremely flattering. She relied on him, she trusted him with her life, with almost everything that mattered to her. He was just…Solas. All the other words she had for how he made her feel seemed too large, too cumbersome, too soon to say aloud.

His lips quirked slightly in anticipation of her answer, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling with good humor. Warmth pooled in the pit of her belly. Creators, but she loved him, so much that it seemed to scorch the insides of her lungs trying to hold it in. She might not have the words for it, but he deserved to know her heart regardless. She wanted him to know it, to understand her inside and out.

Suddenly emboldened by this line of thought and acting before she had the chance to talk herself out of it, Aili leaned forward and quickly pressed her mouth to his. 

The kiss was glancing at best, landing mostly on his chin and one corner of his curling smile. She pulled away like lightening, blushing from the pit of her neck all the way to the roots of her white-blonde hair. Her eyes danced away from him, her lips parting to form a hasty apology when he placed both hands on either side of her face and drew her back to him.  

Solas was different when he kissed her. She had often noticed that he had a certain stillness to him, a polite distance he maintained during most of his interactions with people; pensive and silent, observing. It seemed as though he wished to take in everything there was to know about the world and give nothing of himself in return. But when their lips met, he was _here_. 

The kiss was deep and sweeping, drawing her into him faster than a rip current dragging  her away from the safety of the shore. Her entire body was prickling with the sudden rush of adrenaline as she fisted her hands in the soft fabric of his tunic. He slid his tongue into her mouth and she moaned, her heart seemed suddenly too big for her chest, while her mind was quickly swirling away from coherent thought into a violent giddy hurricane. 

Most people would have described Solas as plain; something easily categorized, and therefore simply understood, and therefore quickly dismissed, but in her arms he was fathomless. He was the bottomless ocean. He was the vastness of an open sky. He was the endless and unknowable paths through the Fade. She wanted to fall through him for eternity, mapping every trait she learned along the way, until there was nothing in him she had not touched and seen and learned. Until the sadness she sometimes caught behind his gaze was nothing but a distant memory.  

His mouth was tender and wanting with a slight edge of desperation, sighing against her lips like a man who had surrendered himself to the inevitability of drowning. If she had not been lost before, there was absolutely no saving her now. Aili was certain it would have sounded disgustingly syrupy and intolerably naïve to admit it, but in that moment, she knew she never wanted to be kissed by any other lips but his.

When they finally broke apart, she was flushed and panting, grinning like a fool. She could have spent the rest of her life like this, slightly mussed, dizzy with a bewildered kind of joy, and a faint hint of his breath still lingering in her mouth.  

“So,” she commented with a peal of breathless laughter, “I suppose this means you _do_ enjoy kissing?”

“Very much so,” Solas assured her with a chuckle of his own. “Indeed, I imagine it would be difficult _not_ to enjoy it, so long as I retained my current partner.” The tips of her ears burned a bright rose color at the compliment, her smile growing impossibly wider. He arched an eyebrow at her. “Was this something that was in doubt?” 

“You just…I mean, you never-” She heaved a sigh. “I didn’t want to pester you with it if it wasn’t something you wanted.”

“Ah.” Solas said, comprehending. “Forgive me, I should have made my deficiencies clearer from the start. I fear I have grown somewhat accustomed to my solitude, and even now it can be easy to forget at times that I am allowed the simple joy of an affectionate touch. That does not mean I would not welcome them from you, however.” He smiled at her gently, reaching out to cup her cheek once more, tangling his fingers in a few loose tendrils of her hair. “Additionally, I confess that knowing your inexperience in such matters has given me pause. I did not wish to rush you into anything you did not feel ready for.”

Aili gave an embarrassed bark of laughter.

“Well, aren’t we a pair?” she snorted in wry amusement, shaking her head at her own folly. “You’re out of practice, and I’ve never been _in_ practice. I’m amazed we managed to get this far.”

“I had faith,” Solas said with a slight smirk.

“Meaning you knew I’d eventually lose my patience and make a move on you,” Aili surmised, arching a brow at him, uncertain if she should be impressed or annoyed.

“I was not wrong,” he pointed out smugly. She stuck her tongue out him in impish retaliation, but found herself laughing soon afterwards.

“For the record,” she told him with a shy smile, feeling the heat rise in her face once more, “I doubt there is any way you could choose to show your affection that I wouldn’t like. Even if I’m inexperienced, I’ll adapt. I’ve been told that I’m a quick learner.”

“Duly noted,” Solas chuckled. “And, for the record, you are free to kiss me whenever you wish.”

“ _Whenever_ I wish?” Aili echoed, her grin growing mischievous. 

“Within reason,” he amended with a laugh. 

“Can I kiss you now?” she asked quietly, the faintest hint of the doubt she had not quite shaken quavering in her tone as she slid closer to him, placing one hand against his chest.

His only answer was a broad smile as he leaned forward to press his mouth to hers.


	11. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a blurb about the touch of lovers

The touch always beings as something quiet, pale and delicate, blooming when the stars are out, subtle and hesitant in the sunshine. The long slender fingers of a scholar belie the hidden strength found in the stories whispered by the scraping of his calluses against her softer skin. Their coarse texture is a testament to decades of wielding a stave, a paint brush, as well as a hundred other talents he has yet to show her. In the daytime, their palms slide along one another, the intimacy of twining fingers the only act of love-making they care to share with curious eyes. Safely obscured beyond the veils of night, it is another tale entirely. He studies the curves of her shoulder blades with sweeps of careful fingertips. He thumbs his way along the knots on her spine with an air of aching reverence. He traces the arching lines of her navel, her clavicle, her pelvis, until he knows her outline better than his own. His grip tightens and she bends to him, supple and sliding, feeling him with every ounce of flesh she can press to meet his body. They meld. They dance. They burn together. She brings her arms up, blunted nails biting into the muscle of his back, clawing and insistent, begging to be near. He pours lost words into her ears, and in this moment they are understood, solid and knowable as her own mortal heart. They cling. They grasp. They come together, their sweat soaked bodies curling into a single panting heartbeat, mimicking the tender way they hold each others' hands.


	12. A Piece of Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly drabble set at the Winter Palace. Involving cake.

"Solas," the Inquisitor whispered to him out of the corner of her mouth, leaning towards him slightly. She was staring down at the opulent gold encrusted dessert plate the servants hand set before her a few minutes ago with a suspicious little squint, obviously trying her best not to frown. For someone the Orlesian nobles had been all too happy about calling a savage in hushed tones a few hours ago, Aili had been rather deftly winding them around her little finger throughout the course of the night. A heathen Dalish apostate she may be, but she was also powerful and intelligent…and beautiful. It was a potent combination; one that Solas himself had fallen prey to, despite his better judgment. He knew she would laugh and complain about how out of her depth she felt later, but she could have easily mastered these fops and their 'Great Game' if she'd had a mind to. He doubted that it would have sat well with her gentle nature however, which was just one more reason to love her. He smiled, and inclined his head slightly in a show of deference like a good 'man servant'.

"Yes, My Lady?" He asked. She blinked at him in surprise, clearly having forgotten the role he had assumed for the evening. Making sure her movements where obscured by the tablecloth, she reached over an placed a hand on his thigh.

" _I like 'Vehnan' better_ ," she told him in Elvhen, apology shining in her eyes and a slight curl of mischief on her lips.

" _As do I_ ," he assured her warmly, also switching to the ancient language of their race. He moved his hand to cover hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. " _Did you need something from me?_ "

" _A dangerous question_ ," she commented with a truly wicked grin, but then she gave her plate another dubious glance. " _What_ _ **is**_ _that?_ "

He looked over at her plate and then back to her face, confused. " _Do you mean the cake_?"

" _Is that cake?_ " Aili asked, scrunching her face at it a bit. " _Why is it the color of shit?_ " Solas gave a snort of laughter despite himself, earning the curious glances of a few nobles seated across from them. The Inquisitor gave them a winning smile and complimented one of the ladies on her atrocious choice of headwear.

" _Vehnan_ ," he called her attention back to him a few moments later, giving her a long searching look, " _Can it be that you have never tried chocolate?_ "

" _That's a…sweet, right?_ " She asked, rolling her eyes at his startled expression, " _I was raised out in the woods remember? We didn't have_ _ **bread**_ _half the time. There is no place for an oven in an aravel, and when we traded with humans it wasn't for things like fancy Orlesian desserts._ "

" _Perhaps you should have,_ " he said with a smirk, taking a small bite of his own piece of cake, " _it is delicious_." She looked unconvinced.

" _Why does this feel like a trap?_ " Aili asked him with a raised brow, " _You just want me to eat something gross so you can laugh at the face I make._ "

" _I am not Sera_." He told her, mildly affronted. " _Are_ _ **all**_ _Dalish this suspicious?_ "

"Fine," the Dalish mage grumbled, slipping back into Common. She scooped the tiniest bit of cake possible onto her dessert fork before shooting him a distrustful glare and muttering, "Ass."

" _You like my ass._ " He reminded her in Elvhen, his grin victorious. The Inquisitor rolled her eyes at him and laughed.

After one last glance of suffering, Aili scrunched her eyes closed and licked the morsel of chocolate off of her utensil. Her face instantly shifted into an expression of pleased surprise, and she quickly shoveled a larger bite of the dessert into her mouth. Her astonishment quickly melted into complete bliss as her eyelids fluttered closed again and she moaned quietly in the back of her throat. The rest of the cake disappeared shortly afterwards.

"Creators," she said, her voice low and rasping, clearly unaware of how quiet the conversation around them had become, "This…this food might be better than sex."

Farther down the table, Varric gave a loud bark of amusement as several Orlesian nobles broke into a flurry of diverted titters and scandalized whispering. The male elf could practically feel Josephine's horrified expression as she quickly tried to placate the ruffled feathers of the dignitaries surrounding her. Cullen was chuckling quietly and Leliana was wearing a knowing smile. Cassandra had simply buried her face in her hands, though he couldn't tell if it was to hide her mortification or her laughter.

Solas glanced back at Aili, who had flushed a bright shade of red all the way to the tips of her pointed ears. She blinked her wide violet eyes up at him pleadingly, clearly humiliated and practically frantic for a way to escape the situation. There was chocolate smeared across the corner of her mouth. He smiled warmly as small huff of laughter broke past his lips. He didn't know if he had ever loved her more.

"My Lady," he said gently, making sure to speak just loud enough for their neighbors to hear. "I believe," he reached over to her with a napkin in his hand, "you have a dirty mouth." He wiped at the area in question, causing the nobles around them to break out into another round of sniggers and guffaws. Aili stared at him for a moment, still trying to process what had just happened, before bursting out with a laugh of her own.

The Inquisitor raised her glass of champagne towards the head of the table where Empress Celene was seated and called up to her, "My compliments to the chef, your Majesty!" To which the Empress smiled faintly and gave a nod of her head in affirmation, and the rest of the table erupted in applause. When their noise had subsided, Aili found Solas' hand again beneath the table and gave his fingers a grateful squeeze.

"Ma Serannas," She breathed, still blushing slightly. He shifted his hand so that their fingers were interlocking.

"But of course, My Lady Inquisitor." he answered quietly, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. His smile turned wolfish as he switched back into Elvhen, " _Though I believe a thorough investigation is required regarding your claims that this dessert was better than our love making._ "

"Ma Nuvenin," Aili responded, biting her lower lip and gazing at him hungrily. After a moment, she broke into a fit of quiet giggles and added, " _You would make a terrible man servant._ "


	13. Shall We Dance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Winter Palace shenanigans.

Aili heard Solas take a sharp breath through his nose as she trod on his foot for what was probably at least the fourth time. She winced before glancing down at her feet, trying to keep time with the music without tripping all over herself. These Shem dances were so clunky, and the thigh high boots she had been forced into were not helping matters.

"Sorry," she told him with a sympathetic grin. "Apparently, I am only good at courtly intrigue when it involves smiling at people as they insult me, climbing garden trellises, and breaking into rooms no one is supposed to be in. If closing rifts required me to waltz, I'd be seriously concerned about the future of Thedas."

"Dancing with Duchess Florianne did not seem too difficult for you," Solas noted, his voice a mix of mild exasperation mingled with amusement.

"I was leading," she explained sheepishly. "That made it easier to hide the times I stepped on her dress. That dip I did at the end wasn't _actually_ supposed to happen. Luckily, I caught her before she hit the floor."

"Is that so?" Solas laughed. "I was about to be flattered by the notion that all this flailing might be induced by your current partner."

"Oh, believe me, that is definitely part of it," Aili flashed him a smirk, "though I'm probably distracted by your interesting choice of headwear more than anything else. Its ridiculousness makes it hard to focus on dancing."

"I like this hat," he said defensively, his brow furrowing slightly.

"You sound like Cole," she said with a snort of laughter. "Did he help you pick it out?"

" _No_." He frowned at her, but there was a distinct sparkle of mirth dancing in his eyes. "I told you, it is the helmet of-"

"I know, I know," she chuckled as she cut him off. "You and your quiet rebellions, silently mocking our gracious hosts." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few suggestions," he informed her helpfully, quirking his lips into a roguish grin. She rewarded him with a laugh, but the distraction also caused her to step on his foot again, making him grunt in mild pain.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Solas," she said through her giggles. "I'd offer you a kiss as an apology, but I'm afraid your hat might stab me in the eye."

"Perhaps later, then," he suggested warmly. "The helmet is an obstacle easily removed, but it would be scandalous for the Inquisitor to be seen fraternizing with her serving man."

"Nonsense!" she replied, with a falsely affronted air. "What do you think an elven serving man _does_ in Orlais?" Aili waggled her eyebrows at him. "He is there to service his mistress's _every_ whim." He laughed and shook his head at her.

"When did you become such a minx?" he asked, pretending to be shocked as he slid his arm more securely around her waist. "I could have sworn that less than a month ago, you were blushing every time I glanced in your general direction."

"I must be learning from someone," she replied smilingly, stepping even closer than the dance required. "Is it a bad thing?"

"Not at all," he assured her in a low voice, leaning down to kiss her.

"A- _hem_!" A nasally voice interrupted them from the doorway before their lips could touch. A barrel-chested man with a well-developed paunch that could not be completely held in check by his richly embroidered doublet was standing there with a sneer that could not be obscured by the opulent mask he wore. He offered Aili a frilly little half bow, which somehow still managed to seem arrogant.

"My Lady Inquisitor," he began in a simpering tone, "there is no need for someone as beautiful as you to end the evening dancing with a servant."

It took every last scrap of social grace Aili had to step out of Solas' arms in order to answer the nobleman's bow with a slight curtsy. It was a little thing, but she hated the knee-bending, especially here, the place where her people were supposed to have built their own nation, and especially to fat useless men who had never thought beyond their own personal gain and when the next meal was going to be served. She forced a smile.

"You flatter me-" she began, hoping the man couldn't discern how badly she wanted to tell him to go shove his head into a privy.

"Vicomte Jean Renald de Bouchard," he interjected in a grandiose manner that clearly indicated that he expected her to know who he was. There was a pregnant pause as Aili scrambled to think whether there was some reason this man could be of some importance to the Inquisition. She drew a blank.

"You are very kind, My Lord, but…I'm afraid I have already promised this dance to my friend here," she informed the Vicomte in a tone that she prayed came off as diplomatic and disinterested.

"To a nameless serving man with terrible taste in clothing?" the noble scoffed. "Do be serious, My Lady. Despite your unfortunate origins, you are now a woman of rank and respectability. You have won peace for Orlais this evening, and rallied a great number of allies to your cause. Do not ruin it over something as ridiculous as consorting with the help."

"Solas is-" Aili started hotly.

"More than willing to release you from our engagement, My Lady," he said smoothly, bringing her hand to his lips and giving her a meaningful look. "We shall have to save our dance for a less auspicious evening."

"Quite right," the Vicomte sniffed haughtily, oblivious to the coldness in the elven man's eyes as he passed him the Inquisitor's hand.

She allowed Vicomte de Bouchard to lead her away a few steps, but then she hesitated, biting her lip as she looked back over her shoulder. Solas' face would have looked almost expressionless to a stranger, but it was plain to Aili that he was just as indignant as she was about having one of their few moments of romance spoiled by some fop with an inflated sense of self-importance. Her lover was not typically one for jealousy, but his hands were clenched at his sides and his blue eyes burned into her, wanting. He was too controlled to act on his desires, but that didn't mean that _she_ had to be.

Aili wrenched herself free of the Vicomte and strode imperiously back towards Solas with her head held high. He furrowed his brows and shook his head at her minutely, trying to signal her to stop, but she ignored him, walking right up to him and yanking off his pointy helmet in one smooth movement. She lobbed the offending headwear over the banister and out into the night and, before he had a moment to complain, she grabbed Solas' face with both hands and kissed him soundly.

Solas gave a surprised grunt, the Vicomte gasped noisily in offense, and a distant splash followed closely by a startled shriek sounded from somewhere in the garden below them. Adapting quickly, as he always seemed to, Solas wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer, a pleased hum rumbling up from his throat as she slid her tongue into his mouth. The nobleman let loose a string of rapid disgusted-sounding phrases in Orlesian as he stomped back into the ballroom. Solas broke from their kiss with a breathless laugh.

"That was...less than subtle," he snorted in mild disbelief, a wide smile scrawled across his features. "Josephine will be lecturing you for weeks to come."

"Perhaps," she admitted with a blush and a toothy grin, "but was it worth it? Now we can dance the rest of the evening." He leaned down and kissed her again.

"Then I suppose it is fortunate I am wearing closed-toe shoes." he said glibly. Aili laughed, and lightly knocked the toes of their boots together.

"At least they're good for something."


	14. 67%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Tumblr prompt. Which is why the weird name, because that was literally all I was given to work with. T_T Everyday fluffy fluff.

“Are you hurt, Vhenan?” Solas asked, his voice tense with a hard edge of panic, picking his way through the ruins of his study to reach the Inquisitor where she lay face down on the floor under a pile of broken shafts of wood and a few pots of paint. Aili gave a low groan in reply.

“I think I bruised my…everything,” she told him hoarsely, making a feeble effort to extricate herself from the mess she had made, “and either I hit my head, or you have an extremely attractive brother you’ve never told me about.” He gave a snort of mild amusement.

“You cannot be too grievously injured if you are still attempting to indulge your terrible sense of humor,” he noted wryly as he crouched down beside her, cupping her face in his hands and treating her wounds with a gentle flood of healing magic.

“Better?” he asked, holding out a hand to help her up.

“Wonderful, ma serannas.” Aili beamed at him, taking his hand and scrambling to her feet. She winced as she surveyed the carnage that had once been her Fade expert’s well-ordered, beautifully painted work space.

“So…"she began guiltily, fidgeting nervously with her hands, “out of one hundred…how much trouble am I in?”

“Hmmm,” Solas replied pensively as he scanned the room once more, frowning slightly. “None of the books or artifacts seem to have been ruined… Therefore, I would say sixty seven percent.”

“That…seems like an oddly precise number,” she commented with a huff of disbelieving laughter, her eyebrows rising in surprise.

“I am a precise man,” Solas responded with a smirk. “Now, would you kindly enlighten me as to why you thought jumping over the banister was preferable to simply walking down the stairs?”

“Maybe I was just in a hurry to see you?” she offered, color rising in her cheeks. He quirked a skeptical eyebrow at her and frowned. “All right…I made a bet with Dorian. I thought I could make it to the scaffolding. I was right! …sort of.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually _do_ it!” Came the Tinvinter mage’s protest from where he was hiding somewhere up in the library. “And you owe me three coppers!”

Solas shook his head at her and heaved a grating sigh, putting one hand on his hip and bringing the other up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Are you…sure you’re only sixty seven percent mad?” Aili asked uncertainly, biting her lip. “I’m really sorry I destroyed your room. I’m such a mess sometimes and I should have realized this would happen- this is the sort of thing that always happens- and I promise I’ll never do it again.” She put her hand on his arm. “Ma sa'lath?”

“I am mostly upset with your apparent disregard for your own safety,” he told her seriously, placing his hand over hers. “Something far more precious than my notes and paintings might have been damaged by your antics.”

She blushed and looked away from him.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, soft and ashamed. He touched her chin, guiding her back to meeting his eyes.

“Forgiveness should be earned, should it not?” he asked, a sly smile curling his lips as he leaned in, his eyes alight with mischief.

“Oh?” Aili asked, clearly intrigued at this sudden development. “Oh, _yes_. I agree completely.”

“Excellent,” Solas said brightly, instantly pulling away from her and walking towards the door to the Great Hall. “You can begin by cleaning up this mess. I will inform Josephine that you have been unavoidably detained from attending today’s meetings.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Aili sighed in disappointment. “Yes, of course.”

She looked around the room and sighed again, “ _Fenedhis._ ”

* * *

It was well past nightfall when Solas returned bearing a tray laden with fruit and cheese and a few cuts of cold meat along with a steaming mug of cider. Aili was slumped over his desk, her shirtsleeves rolled up to her elbows, covered in dirt and dabs of paint as she sleepily tried to arrange what was left of his notes in the order they were meant to be in. She moaned eagerly at the sight of the food.

“You have done well,” Solas told her warmly, setting the tray down and leaning against the desk beside her. “I can barely tell that someone swept through here like a natural disaster earlier today.”

“I couldn’t fix the fresco,” Aili said sadly through a greedy mouthful of apple. “It was so beautiful…and now it’s ruined.”

“Let me worry about that,” he said, folding his arms and scrutinizing the painting in question. “I was dissatisfied with how it was progressing anyway.”

“So generous,” she said, offering him a tired smile.

“You give me good reason to be,” he assured her, smiling at her in turn. She answered with a pleased hum, finishing off the rest of her apple.

“Why did you decide to cover the walls with things the Inquisition has done?” she asked after a moment of contented silence.

“Not things the Inquisition has done,” Solas corrected her. “Things _you_ have done, Vhenan. Varric has his way of recording history, and I have mine.”

“But it’s your study,” she persisted. “Hardly anyone comes in here unless they’re on their way to somewhere else. Wouldn’t you rather have some relaxing scenery or something? Or something that meant something to you?”

“ _You_ mean something to me,” he said pointedly.

“But you started these before we even kissed,” she laughed.

His only answer was a steady gaze and a wide smile.

“Oh?” Aili exclaimed, her eyes widening as the realization struck her. She flashed him a toothy grin. “And just how far gone were you when I planted one on you in the Fade?”

“Hmmm,” Solas said as he leaned down to claim her mouth, “At least sixty seven percent.”


	15. A Bun in the Oven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Tumblr anon prompting me with a tough one, because I wanted to follow what they gave me ('I'm Pregnant') without diverting from canon. *Sigh*  
> A misunderstanding makes Solas panic. Deals with babies and talk of pregnancy if that is not your jam.

“-to say, ‘I’m pregnant’?” Where the first words Solas caught as he entered the Inquisitor’s chambers, stopping dead in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs at the sound of Aili’s words, suddenly grateful to be out of sight. He had come to show her a horrendously mangled passage he had discovered in an Orlesian text regarding Elvhen lore, and it went without saying that he found his amusement with the human’s blatant ineptitude had instantly evaporated.       

“But…what if he should not want the child, My Lady?” A woman’s voice he did not recognize whimpered fretfully in reply.       

“He will,“ Aili said with a certainty that gripped at Solas’ heart. “It was born of love, and he will love it. Though I grant you, he may be a bit… _surprised_.”         

“I…I hope you are right, My Lady,” the woman replied doubtfully. “Maker only knows what sort of madness this place will fall prey to with a little one underfoot.”

“I’d take changing nappies and singing lullabies over fighting demons any day,” Aili said laughingly.         

“Then…does My Lady want to have a child?” The woman, who Solas realized must be one of the serving girls, asked. “I-I mean… I apologize if that is too forward.”        

“I don’t mind,” Aili replied softly, a trace of wistfulness coloring her tone. “I guess I just always assumed I would become a mother. It wasn’t even a matter of wanting a child or not. A Dalish Clan needs to stay a certain size in order to remain functional, it can’t get too big or too small, and while there isn’t exactly a strict rule about it, healthy young couples who display a certain level of skill are… _encouraged_ to have at least one child. Mages in particular.”         

He heard her heave a deep sigh.         

“But that was before I became the Inquisitor. Now…” Her sentence trailed away, and Solas desperately wished he could see the expression on her face.         

“I think you will be an excellent mother, Lady Lavellan,” the servant told her emphatically.         

Aili laughed.         

“Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out!”         

Solas could bear to hear no more. He quietly slipped back out of the room, his head an absolute whirl. He made his way back to his bedchamber in a daze, gripping the book he had meant to show her tightly in his hands, not even registering Varric’s friendly greeting as he passed through the Great Hall.         

The Inquisitor was with child.         

There could be no doubt as to who had sired the babe. Aili had barely kissed a man before she had met him, let alone taken one to her bed.         

Solas was going to be a father.         

He stumbled gracelessly into his room and slumped heavily onto his bed, falling backwards to stare blankly up at the ceiling. His mind was racing, trying to puzzle out how this could have happened. Well, he knew _how_ it had happened, but they had been so careful. They had taken every possible step imaginable to prevent such an occurrence…yet here they were.         

What could he do? What _should_ he do?         

Neither of them were in a position to sacrifice the amount of time and care raising a child entailed, surely Aili would realize that. She must know the senseless amount of danger Thedas would be placed in if she became physically incapacitated during the late stages of pregnancy, not to mention the perils of actually giving birth. But…how could he deny her the right to try, if she wished to keep it?         

And what of him? Could he truly walk away from what his duty demanded of him to stay with her and raise a family? It was a simple dream for simple men with simple lives, and one he had barley allowed himself to consider except in the vaguest fragments of passing daydreams. While it was true that ‘Solas’ had no reason to deny himself such a life, he was not Solas. Not completely.         

Could he spend the rest of his days at her side while denying her the truth? Could he let the world fall?         

He shook his head. Even if he did tell her, he could not simply abandon his mission. It was too important.         

But…what sort of man would he be if he abandoned his own offspring? Surely he owed them something for the part he had played in forming their existence. And he could not deny that some quiet hidden space within his heart yearned to meet that child - _their_ child, to teach them the old ways and watch them grow. Yet, what would be worth more to them: a father’s presence or a renewed world, healed and whole?         

Solas ran his hands over his face as a low groan pushed its way up his throat. He was trapped. There was no good choice to make. Any action he took would end up ruining something precious to him. He never should have involved himself in a romantic relationship in the first place, for both their sakes. The only foreseeable end was disastrous.         

That being said, he knew that if he could go back and do it over again, he would find himself just as helpless in the face of Aili’s warm and open devotion to him as he was now. He was not even certain when he had managed to fall for her so completely, she had simply smiled at him one day and his heart had fluttered briefly in his chest, he had flushed, he had stumbled, and he had known that he was lost.         

He had been alone for so long, and the idea that he could make someone happy, that someone could see something valuable and worthy and noble in him when all of his former glory had been warped into something dark and sinister…the temptation had simply been too great, and the allure of her affection had not waned with time. He was not proud of such weakness, but there was little point in denying the truth of it. Had things been different, he would have exulted in the idea of staying at her side to become a father, but as they were…         

He needed to speak with Aili about this. He still was not sure what he would do, what he could say, or what he could offer; he owned practically nothing, belonged nowhere, and his prior responsibilities were so numerous and of such great magnitude that he was not even certain he could promise her a definite amount of time for them to share. Perhaps all he could give her was the truth.    

Solas took a deep shuddering breath. _The truth._ He had wanted to tell her who he was almost as soon as he had kissed her on her balcony at Skyhold, but he had contented himself with a mumbled confession of his feelings and a hasty retreat. Aili had a way of doing that to him, of making him reveal more of himself than he intended, pulling him into the present to be with her, near her, part of her world. It was dangerous and intoxicating, and the more time passed, the harder it was for him to hold any part of himself away from her. And maybe this pregnancy was a sign that he should trust his instincts- trust   _her_ , and finally succumb to those urges.         

Solas felt his resolve harden in his chest, though whether it was more from apprehension or exhilaration, he honestly could not say. He would tell her. He would wait for her to share her secret, and then he would offer his own in turn. He would give her the chance to back away from him if she wanted to. To…end things if she so desired, both with him and the babe. She could not be far along, and he could only imagine what her clan would have to say about her carrying the Dread Wolf’s whelp.         

A strange bitterness burned in the pit of his stomach as he thought of it, along with a dull aching melancholy. It would be the sensible thing for her to do, all things considered, even if she did not turn him away for his deception, but any child of theirs would have such potential for greatness, and it seemed like such a tragic waste to snuff it out.     

Solas heaved a grating sigh, mentally cursing his lack of conviction. He supposed there was nothing more he could do except wait with bated breath for Aili to change everything in his world once again.

* * *

But the discussion never came. Days bled into weeks, and soon more than a month had slipped by, and still Aili had said nothing. Solas was in a constant state of mild panic, pins and needles prickling beneath his skin every time they were alone, his heart leaping into his throat whenever she opened her mouth to speak, but the Inquisitor did not drop a single allusion to her condition. It was maddening.     

He was nearly at his wit’s end, and more than ready to simply bring up the unpleasant subject himself, when he found her waiting for him on the couch in the rotunda, a small pile of blankets in her arms and laid across her lap.         

“Vhenan,” he began, his tone brusque with his impatience.         

“Shhh!” Aili scolded him, bringing a finger to her smiling lips to signal a request for his silence.         

“Come here, Solas,” she whispered to him, wiggling the fingers of her free hand in a beckoning gesture. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”         

Solas padded over to her warily, casting a dubious glance at the bundle nestled in her arms.His eyebrows rose in quiet astonishment as he sat down beside her and beheld a soft round face amidst the blankets.         

“This is Elaina,” Aili told him, her smile broadening at his look of surprise.         

The babe was sleeping soundly, her skin all silky rose and cream, a downy tuft of pale blonde hair poking out from under the covers. Her tiny face scrunched at something unpleasant in her dream, and she turned towards Solas, revealing a delicate pointed ear as it slid free from the woolen confines of her swaddle.         

“Vhenan,” Solas began again, still baffled, “why do you have a baby?”     

“She belongs to one of the maids who clean my rooms, Leah,” Aili informed him blithely. “She only gave birth a few weeks ago, and the poor woman was obviously exhausted, so I offered to watch her for a while. Isn’t she precious? She has the sweetest disposition.”         

Solas put his hand on her arm, gazing at her intently.         

“There is no need to use such subtle tactics with me, Vhenan,” he told her seriously. “I overheard you telling one of the serving women about your…condition. I have been waiting for you to speak with me about it for some time.”         

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her brows knitting in confusion. “What _condition_?” She glanced down at Elaina and then back at Solas, comprehension dawning on her face.         

“Fen'Harel’s _teeth_ , Solas!” Aili exclaimed, fighting to stifle her laughter. “I am _not_ pregnant!”

The baby stirred in her arms and they both froze for one breathless moment, waiting to see if she would wake. Elaina gave a wide yawn, but otherwise seemed untroubled by the disturbance the adults were causing. Aili and Solas let out simultaneous sighs of relief.         

“But, you said…” He trailed away, utterly bewildered even as he felt the tension he had been carrying in his shoulders ease, along with some of his more prominent fears.         

“You must have heard me talking to Leah,” Aili said, clearly still amused at the mistake.         

“Her lover is one of Leliana’s agents. He works primarily in Val Royeaux, and they haven’t seen each other for…well, long enough for this to happen. She didn’t want to tell him about the baby in a letter, so she was asking me to have a word with our Spymaster about getting him some leave to come home.”         

“Oh,” Was all the response he could muster. He was profoundly glad to have avoided something that would have caused a slew of several overwhelmingly difficult problems. Yet, as he observed Aili cradling Elaina, he could not help but note how easily the child could have been their own, and he felt a distinct pang of quiet regret.         

“Do you want to hold her?” Aili asked, passing the babe into his arms before he had the chance to protest.         

“Vehnan, I do not-” He tried with a slight hint of panic, glancing down helplessly at the child.         

“You’re doing just fine,” she assured him, guiding his hands so that he was supporting Elaina’s head correctly. The babe blinked herself awake long enough to study Solas with dark slanting eyes before chirruping softly and sliding back into her dreams.         

“She likes you,” Aili noted with a warm smile, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He glanced at her nervously, his eyebrows rising in wonder.

“She is…very small,” he observed, still feeling somewhat foolish.         

“Most babies are,” Aili agreed with a low chuckle.         

“Do you…” His brow furrowed as he paused briefly to mull over his words, “Is this…something you want? Children?”         

“Hmmm,” she said, snuggling up against his side as she considered her answer. “Now would not be such a great time to have them, but I wouldn’t mind having a family some day. Especially with you.”         

Solas felt his mouth twitch downward and he turned his head away from her quickly, striving to hide his trepidation. Aili was far too used to gauging the subtle shifts in his emotions however, and placed her hand on his face, guiding him back to meet her eyes.         

“We’re speaking in hypotheticals here, aren’t we?” she asked gently. “You aren’t going to disappoint me if you don’t want to have kids.”         

“I… have never truly given he matter much thought,” he confessed, shrugging stiffly. “My life has never catered to what would normally be considered domestic.”         

“Well, you have plenty of time to figure out what you want, Solas,” she pointed out. “I doubt Thedas is going to stop requiring me to traipse around closing Fade rifts any time soon.”         

“I know that I want you,” he told her, bending down to press his forehead to hers, ever mindful of the sleeping child in his arms. “Is that enough?”        

Aili sighed contentedly, nuzzling her face against his.         

“ _Always_.”          


	16. Shots Fired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aili makes the mistake of trolling Solas.

Solas sat quietly on a roughhewn bench amidst the bustle of the Dalish camp. The sun was setting on the Exalted Plains, and the clan of wandering elves had offered to shelter them for the evening in return for the aid the Inquisitor had given them. Aili had instantly agreed, much to the chagrin of the rest of her travelling companions, though they could hardly be surprised. For the most part, the elves had simply gone about their business as though the strangers where not present, and the members of the Inquisition had tucked themselves into a corner and tried to stay out of their way. The elven apostate was certain they were being watched however, the unseen hunters up in the crags surrounding the camp would shoot them down without hesitation if any of them tried to cause trouble.

Aili was different here. She was more relaxed, confident, and her already easy laughter was born of joy as opposed to a means to fight back the darkness. The hunters and craftsmen joked with her like an old friend. The Keeper had sought her counsel, which made her flush with pride. And the children, who would not come within fifteen paces of Solas or any other member of the Inquisitor's party, had taken to her like flies to honey, swarming around her excitedly and pulling her along by both hands. She reigned over her little horde with benevolence and warmth, patiently helping them make chains of blue and yellow wildflowers and letting them weave an abundance of oddly shaped braids into her white-blonde hair. She seemed happy.

"See something you like, Solas?" Dorian asked, coming to sit beside him with an insufferably smug grin on his face.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," the apostate said dismissively.

"I believe," Varric commented wryly, sitting on the other side of him and successfully hemming him in, "Sparkler was taking note of that sappy besotted smile you were sporting a few moments ago."

"I am not _besotted_!" the elf insisted with a frown.

"You _aren't_?" the Tevinter mage asked, sounding scandalized. "Why in blazes aren't you? Look at that sweet little face, those lithe legs, that smile! If she blinked those beguiling eyes up at _me_ the same way she looks at _you_ , I would have to seriously reevaluate my stance on not being interested in women."

"No you wouldn't," Varric snorted.

"All right, no, I wouldn't," Dorian replied, "but my point still stands."

"Our little Dandelion's a keeper," the dwarf agreed warmly, "She's the kind of girl you take home to meet your parents and then they end up liking her more than they like you. You can't tell me that the sight of her surrounded by all those kids doesn't fill your head with visions of you and her raising a dozen grim-faced pointy-eared mage babies."

"Hopefully they'd inherit their mother's hair," Dorian quipped.

"Our lifestyle does not lend to thoughts of domesticity," Solas reminded them evenly, throwing the human a dirty look.

"All the more reason to think about it, I say," the Altus laughed.

"Here I thought you'd be eager to help rebuild that Elvhen Empire you're always on about, Chuckles," Varric added.

"Do you think Aili would let me be an honorary uncle?" Dorian wondered, stroking his chin.

"You, Master Pavus, are one of the last people to whom I would ever entrust the care of a child," Solas informed him bluntly. "Especially a child I had sired."

"Oh come now, Solas," the human mage complained, "How else will any child of yours learn anything about good taste in clothing?"

"I am certain they would manage," the apostate answered dryly.

"H-haren?" called an uncertain voice with a hint of a lisp. One of the children, a boy of six or seven years, was standing in front of them, digging his bare toes into the grass and looking like he wanted very badly to escape.

"What is it, Da'len?" Solas asked gently, trying to sound reassuring. The boy thrust a pudgy dirt smeared hand out to him, one of the little blue wildflowers wilting slightly in his grasp. The apostate blinked in obvious surprise, but took the proffered gift without comment, smiling faintly as he twirled it between his fingers. The child grinned widely, crinkling the band or freckles across the high bridge of his nose and showing off his missing front teeth.

"She said it would make you happy," the boy said, sounding pleased with himself.

"Oh?" the older elf commented, looking over to where Aili was having a rather animated chat with a girl with red pigtails before asking, "What is your name, Da'len?"

"E-effran," the child replied nervously, glancing back and forth between the dwarf and the human, who both looked like Wintersend had come early.

"What else did your lethallan have to say about me, Effran?" Solas inquired, trying to sound casual and refusing to meet the eyes of either of his companions.

"Saeril called you a flat ear, but Big Sister told him that he shouldn't call people that. She said you were Elvhen, just like the rest of us," Effran told him, fidgeting under the older elf's piercing gaze. "But then Faeya said that you couldn't be one of the People, because you're old, and you still don't have your vallaslin."

Varric snorted at the word 'old'. Dorian's smirk was nearly three times as insufferable as it had been when he'd sat down. Solas shot each of them a frown that could rival Cassandra's, making Effran squirm guiltily.

"L-lethallan said that a long time ago you fought a giant spider with your bare hands. The battle raged for three days and three nights, and afterwards you were completely covered in guts and venom. It was really disgusting and the poison stung your skin, so you went to a stream wash it off, and you scrubbed so hard that your vallaslin came off…and all of your hair." The boy ended the tale in a mumble, but it was still loud enough for all three members of the Inquisition to make it out.

Varric laughed so hard that tears started rolling down his face and Dorian's roar of amusement was so powerful it sent him toppling straight off their wooden bench. Solas gave a long-suffering sigh and cast a cold glance over at where Aili was still sitting amongst the throng of Dalish youngsters. She caught his eye and gave him a deceptively innocent smile, batting her eyes at him and wiggling her fingers in a cheeky little wave.

The smile he gave her in return was sly and slightly predatory. He gave a dark chuckle at the flicker of uncertainty that slid across her face. He glanced back at Effran, who was obviously petrified that he had said something that was about to land him in a world of trouble.

"Would you do me a favor, Da'len?" Solas asked the child in a warm voice, mischief sparking in his blue eyes as his gaze flicked back to the Inquisitor. "You did such an admirable job of delivering your lethallan's message, I wonder if you would mind doing as much for me?"

"W-what...should I say?" the boy asked, still fidgeting, but clearly relieved that no one had scolded him yet.

" _Felassan_ ," Solas told him, the old language rolling deftly from his tongue. The boy tilted his head in confusion.

"An...an arrow?" Effran asked uncertainly.

"A _slow_ arrow," the apostate corrected patiently. "I believe the Dalish have a story by that name. If you are curious, you should ask your new friend for a recitation."

The child still looked puzzled, but seeing this as a legitimate excuse to escape the strangers, he simply nodded his head and scurried back towards his friends.

"All right," Dorian spoke up, sounding indignant, likely suspecting he was being left out of something fun. "What was all that nonsense about arrows supposed to mean?"

"It means," Solas began, smirking at the look of obvious perplexity on Aili's face when his message was delivered, "that not all retribution is swift. My bow is drawn taut, and now I will wait."

He rose to his feet and walked away, and the dwarf and the human still sitting on the bench exchanged dubious glances.

"I'll put three silvers on Chuckles," Varric offered after a moment of silence.

"Well, I never turn down an excuse to throw away money," Dorian commented. "You're on."

* * *

Not long after, when the long light of sunset bled into the hazy shades of dusk, the Dalish gathered to light their evening fires. Keeper Hawen approached Aili, and asked her to do the honors of starting the evening hymn to Sylaise. Grinning from ear to ear and blushing slightly, she cast a somewhat self-conscious glance at her companions before nodding her head in assent.

She stepped forward, calling forth a plume of fire to hover in her open palm and setting the logs in the largest fire pit ablaze. Then, she closed her eyes, lifted her chin and began singing in Elvhen.

Her voice was soft and mellow and filled with quiet longing in the same manner a distant trill of birdsong in the winter silence seems to ache for spring. It rose into something high and pure and hopeful as one by one the members of the Dalish clan added their voices to hers. Before long, the entire camp was singing, the beautiful haunting sound echoing off the nearby rocks and sweeping out onto the darkening plains.

Despite claiming no affiliations with any religion, Solas smiled wistfully at the group of elves surrounding him in the semidarkness. They had next to nothing but their familial bonds and their indomitable faith that someday things would get better, and yet they were thankful for even that small mercy. For food and shelter. For companionship and love. And even for their gods, despite their apparent absence, as they clung to every scrap of their once proud culture.

The song ended, and several people came forward to praise the Inquisitor for a job well done.

Solas smiled to himself, watching her intently as she beamed in unexpected pleasure at the flood of admiration, slowly sauntering up behind her. He slid one hand about her waist, the touch feather light, but full of promise, and brushed his lips against her ear.

" _You have a beautiful voice, Vhenan_ ," he told her in low lilting Elvhen, " _but my favorite song is the one comprised solely of my name as I bring you pleasure._ "

Aili whipped her head around to stare at him in horror, her face a blazing scarlet as she sputtered a nonsensical reply and darted her eyes about to see if anyone else had caught what he had said.

"Is something wrong, Inquisitor?" Solas asked innocently.

"What if someone had _heard_ you?" she hissed at him in disbelief, shoving his shoulder in admonishment.

"You did not seem to mind teasing me in front of a rather large group of children earlier," he reminded her pointedly, but his smile was playful. "Besides, I was under the impression that you enjoyed it when I spoke to you in Elvhen."

"Not like _that_ ," she stuttered in mortification, "I mean, not in _public_!" She buried her face in her hands. Solas simply laughed.

"So, this is your idea of vengeance?" Aili asked, her voice still a bit strangled.

"Not at all," he assured her with a smirk. "It is but the thrum of a bowstring after an arrow has been loosed. Your young friend delivered my message, did he not?"

" _Felassan_?" She replied, her eyes widening in dawning comprehension. "Does that mean you're going to keep doing this?"

His roguish grin was her only response as he turned and went to join their friends.

* * *

The goal of the next day's outing was to search for the wayward supplies of the Orlesian soldiers, as well as tracking down the various herbs that the Inquisition scouts had written requisitions for.

The Inquisitor was crouching down to gather a few stalks of embrium when the first attack came.

" _Your hands are so nimble and delicate_ ," Solas commented nonchalantly, once more speaking in Elvhen. " _I cannot look at them without dwelling on the intimate way you touch me. The way they burn sensually across my skin. Would that I could feel them now, and return the favor in kind._ "

Aili promptly toppled over in surprise, glaring up at him from the ground, her blushing face smeared with fresh streaks of dirt. Both Dorian and Varric laughed heartily at her expense, despite lacking the context.

"What was that all about?" Varric asked through thick chortles.

"I was merely noting the various applications of embrium," Solas informed him with a faint, cryptic smile.

The rest of the morning passed in much the same manner, with the companions' activities frequently halted by Solas making a seemingly off-hand comment in Elvhen, which never failed to send Aili tripping or flailing or sputtering in indignation.

Occasionally she managed to sneak in a witty retort of her own, but it was obvious who had the upper hand. The fact that she was clearly becoming more and more distracted by his remarks was not helping matters. Her face was almost continually flushed, and she stole glances at her tormentor which were warm with something other than aggravation. Solas on the other hand, who undoubtedly noticed these attentions, bore an incredibly satisfied smirk and seemed to have added a slight hint of a swagger to his usual gait.

Varric and Dorian egged them both on by turns and faithfully kept a score of their transactions: twenty six to ten, and it wasn't even midday.

Aili was picking her way up a steep hill, leading the party as usual and keeping an eye out for one of the supply caches, when Solas called something out to her in Elvhen once again. She yelped in surprise, losing her footing and tumbling backward down the knoll and skidding directly into Varric, knocking him to the ground.

" _Fenedhis_!" She cursed loudly as she stumbled back onto her feet, pulling the dwarf up by the arm and shooting Solas an exasperated glower. "You can't even _see_ that in this armor!"

" _I assume it is still there_ ," Solas said smilingly, " _and in more or less the same condition as it was the last time I saw it_."

"You. Are. _Incorrigible_ ," she fumed, stomping over and poking him accusingly in the chest.

"Does that mean you admit defeat?" he asked, snagging the hand she had prodded him with and bringing it to his lips. " _Have I finally managed to dominate your resolute focus? A pity, I was certain that my tongue would need to be more creative. And engaged in a much different task._ "

"I can't take you anywhere," Aili complained, but her gazed was fixed on his mouth, her interest clear.

" _Oh, but I could take **you** anywhere_ ," he professed with a soft deadly confidence, reaching out to stroke her cheek. " _If we were alone, I could show you. The veil is thin here, and the spirits gather to watch the fighting, drawn by death an suffering, but I would show them you. I would grant them a memory of unparalleled beauty. Your scent, your taste, the sound of you unraveling in my arms as I_ -"

She grabbed him roughly by the front of his jacket and slammed her mouth into his. He grinned triumphantly against her lips, wrapping his arms around her firmly as he deepened the kiss.

Varric gave a low whistle and Dorian snickered loudly. The sounds of their audience snapped Aili back into reality, and she jumped back from Solas as though he had burned her, breathing hard. He held her gaze steadily, his expression betraying nothing, while his eyes brimmed with a torrent of impure intentions. Aili gulped thickly and glanced over at their companions.

"Can you two...go pick elfroot or something?" she asked breathlessly, grabbing the older elf by the hand and pulling him towards a nearby copse of trees. "Solas and I need to have...a discussion. About the Fade. And elf things. It's very important. We'll come find you afterwards."

Solas laughed at their astonished expressions as he allowed himself to be dragged away. The human and the dwarf exchanged a look.

"So...who won?" Dorian asked after a moment.

"Well," Varric replied with a knowing smile, "Chuckles may have won the battle, but I get the feeling Dandelion is about to win the war."


	17. Solis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disgustingly sweet fluffy drabble thing I wrote to go with some art I made. Waking up together.

Sunlight crept into the room, rosy and shy when it discovered the two lovers tangled together on the bed. Solas slid from the Fade into the wakefulness of reality as easily as a normal man might pass through a doorway, but he still cast a disgruntled glower at the sunny windows surrounding them. He had never been much of a morning person. Seemingly oblivious to the bright intrusion, Inquisitor Lavellan continued to slumber in his arms. She usually woke well before him, but it had been very late when they had returned to Skyhold last night, and exhaustion had pulled her into such a deep sleep that they had not even met on the far side of dreams.

He took a moment to admire the way the early morning light painted patterns on her skin. Every place their bodies touched felt warm, solid, real. Her embrace was  possessive yet tender, trapping him in a prison built of twining limbs and drowsy adoration. One of her hands was tucked awkwardly between them, the knuckles faintly pressed against his lips. He kissed them softly, but she did not stir.

He fondly cataloged her features; cheekbones, nose, chin, and jaw. He took note of how her lips parted slightly, breathing into the hand still caught between them. The way her blonde lashes laid flush against the tan skin of her cheeks. The familiar pattern of her bronze vallaslin swirled across her brow. A few loose curls had spilled across her face, gleaming like pale spun gold in the morning light. Moving the arm she had not commandeered for use as a pillow, he gently brushed the rebellious locks out of her eyes and tucked them behind a delicate, pointed ear.

Her eyes slowly blinked open, revealing their deep purple hue. She smiled at him sleepily.

“Ma sa’lath,” she whispered, her voice thick with sleep, tracing his jaw lightly as she tilted her head forward to ply him with a soft nuzzling kiss. It seemed like a good way to begin the day, to begin anything: with love.

“Vhenan,” he replied in kind, breathing the word into her mouth. She sighed contentedly, snuggling further into his embrace. He brought his hand up to stroke her hair before commenting, “You should allow me to sketch you sometime.”

“Why?” she asked, craning her head back a little to meet his gaze and making a face at him.

“Because you are beautiful,” he answered smoothly, pulling her in and slanting his mouth over hers once more. She giggled against his lips, the muffled sound of it purring from her chest seemed to pour into him from every place they touched.

“You are a shameless flatterer,” she accused, still laughing when they parted, “and I suspect that you’re more than a little biased in my favor.”

“Both of these things are true,” he admitted with a grin. “However, that does not mean I am wrong.”

“Are you ever wrong?” she asked teasingly.

“Rarely.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t fall in love with you for your humility,” she said with a snort.

“It is always pleasant to hear someone exult in one’s virtues,” Solas commented dryly.

“You have plenty of virtues!” she replied, with a laugh. “Humility is simply not one of them.”

“Oh really?” he asked, quirking a brow.

“Yes,” Aili informed him blithely. “Two of your best virtues happen to be that you are a shameless flatter who is unapologetically biased in my favor.”

He laughed. 

She cupped his face with both hands delicately, as though he was some precious fragile thing that might break if her affection became too fervent. He wasn’t certain she was wrong.

“You have a good heart, Ma sa’lath,” she whispered it to him, as though it was some great secret.

“I do,” he agreed in a low voice, leaning in to meet her lips once more. “She is right here in my arms.”


	18. Big Game Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aili is an affectionate drunk. NSFW

It was very late when Solas heard one of the doors to his study creak open. He had spent the better part of the evening attempting to translate a strange old book the Inquisition unearthed in a ruin in Emprise du Lion. It was written largely in Arcanum, occasionally interrupted with long paragraphs in garbled Elvish, and seemed to be little more than a diary with a few magical theories and notes on artifacts here and there. The author mostly spent his time complaining that a girl named Vida wouldn’t give him the time of day, and Solas wouldn’t have bothered with it at all except that there had been several references to a Somniari who wielded a mysterious orb of power. If he could locate another orb, if he could find some way of unlocking it and returning to his true strength….

Something soft and slightly damp pressed against the crown of his bald head, and a few locks of lavender-scented hair fell into his face. There was a giggle, and the sound of it buzzed against his skull. He glanced up, completely unsurprised to see Aili hanging over the back of his chair, a wide grin plastered across her face. Her cheeks were flushed a dark pink against her tan skin. She hiccupped.

“Vhenan,” he greeted her impassively.

“Sooooolas,” she replied, breaking out into another fit of bubbling laughter as she slid off the back of the chair, offering him a little wave as she vanished from sight. She slunk around one side of the chair before crawling up into his lap, nuzzling under his chin like a large affectionate cat. She gave a pleased-sounding hum as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hi.”

“You smell like a brewery,” he told her archly, still trying to read the book in his hands over the top of her head.

“S'no way to talk to the Herald of-” she hiccupped again, “Andraste.”

“I shall bear that in mind if she ever appears,” he assured her.

“You’re such'n ass sometimes,” Aili snickered. “You should be nice to me.” She started trailing lazy kisses up one side of his neck and along his jaw. Solas suddenly found he could not remember how certain verbs in Arcanum conjugated. He swallowed thickly, but otherwise gave no hint of the weakness she was exploiting in him.

“And why is that?” His voice had a distinct roughness to it. Solas was still staring at the tome he’d been studying, but every other sense he possessed was fixed firmly on the Dalish woman and what she was doing to him.

“Cause,” Aili explained as she gently bit his ear, making him inhale sharply, “When you’re nice to _me_ , it makes me wanna be nice to _you_.” She shifted so that she was facing him directly, bracketing his hips with her thighs. She cupped his face in her hands and smeared a sloppy kiss across his mouth and chin. She tasted strongly of alcohol.

“Lemme be nice to you,” Aili mumbled with her mouth still against his lips. Her head lolled to one side as she grinned at him with bleary-eyed adoration.

“I…I am trying to research something of great im-” he began to protest weakly when she cut him off.

“You’re _always_ doing research,” she complained, sticking out her bottom lip a little, pouting. “I’ve been gone for more than a week…didn’t you miss me?”

“I always miss you,” he told her seriously, because it was true. It was madness to admit it, but Skyhold always seemed too quiet when she was away. He was a man who enjoyed a fair amount of solitude, and hardly anyone came to speak with him regardless, but her presence was just so big, so bright, that not even an entire fortress filled with people could make up for her absence. And even when she was here, there were times when she would smile or laugh or touch him, and all he could see was a ticking clock eating up the precious moments before something happened to tear them apart. The anticipation of that loneliness, of a future without her eyes and her scent and the sound of her voice, was like a noose slowly tightening around his neck.

“I got back this morning,” Aili said in a low whine, “and you’ve barely said five words t'me all day.”

“I was-”

“ _Busy_ ,” she finished for him. “That excuse is wearing thin, Ma lath. You wouldn’t even come to the tavern when Varric invited you to join the celebration.”

“There was a celebration?” He asked.

“Yes. No. …sort of?” Aili giggled again, apparently remembering her good humor. “It was mostly Bull shouting things in Qunlat and trying to get everyone to drink something that tasted a lot like paint thinner. But s'okay, most of your taste buds are dead after the firs’ pint.”

Solas heaved a long-suffering sigh.

“Solas…” She murmured into his neck, slowly grinding her hips against him, “Solas, I killed a dragon.”

“You did _what_?” Solas barked in alarm, his heart thundering in his chest in equal parts dismay and desire as she continued to slide against him torturously. He clutched his book tightly behind her back, scrabbling for some scrap of calm. This was not the way to have this conversation.

“There was a dragon,” she explained slowly, as though the words were difficult to master. “In Crestwood. Big scaly thing eating everyone’s livestock and…I think he might’ve bitten somebody’s head off? I forget. Anyway, nothing to do but send in the elf girl, right? Inquisitor or no, I bet some of them were hoping it’d kill me…but I showed _them_! Poked it with my staff- right in the eye!” She gave a triumphant laugh, “Blood and goop everywhere!”

“You should have,” he paused to bite back a groan when she decided to make a little dark love bite just below his ear, “sent for me. You could have been hurt. You could have been _worse_ than hurt.”

Aili gripped his shoulders as she threw her head back and laughed. The sound was high and clear and giddy with amusement as it echoed off the round walls surrounding them. She nearly fell out of the chair.

“Oh, Solas,” she said, still chuckling thickly, “I’ve been physically thrown in and out of the Fade. I’ve been at the heart of an explosion that ripped a hole in the sky. I got sucked into some crazy time vortex and sent to the future. I’ve been roughed up by some wannabe god and his big blighted pet, and then I had a mountain fall on top of me, and then I walked over ten miles in the snow with three fractured ribs and a sprained ankle in the dark, on my own. I visited the halls of Halamshiral, a place that should have belonged to _my_ people, and danced their human dances and ate their human food and returned all their fake smiles, even knowing half of them would’ve liked nothing better than to find me in a pool of blood with a dagger in my back before the evening was through. And most of the Chantry would still love to throw me in a Circle, or burn me at the stake for blasphemy. …and you’re worried about a _dragon_?”

“You _do_ seem to attract an uncanny amount of danger,” he admitted, frowning slightly. “You are a talented mage, Vhenan, but just because you have survived thus far does not imply that picking fights with dragons is safer for you than anyone else.”

“I tried telling it to shoo, but it just roared a lot and threw a ball of lightening at me.” She shrugged, still smiling.

“Please do not make light of this!” He snapped in obvious aggravation. “Losing you would-” _Kill me. Break me. Ruin me entirely_. Solas turned his face away from her, glaring at an unfinished mural. Her fingers traced along his jaw, the touch was soft and sorry, guiding him back to her.

“Ir'abelas, Ma sa'lath,” she whispered hoarsely, leaning in until their foreheads touched and closing her eyes. He sighed wearily, but did not answer her.

“I’m _here_ , Solas. I’m with you. Safe.” Aili slanted her mouth over his as if to prove the truth of her words, trembling against him, wanting. “I didn’t come here to argue.”

The book he had been reading made a loud slapping sound as it hit the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in until there was no space left between them, burying his face into her shoulder. She stroked the back of his head consolingly.

“Next time,” he said from somewhere in the loose curls of her white-blonde hair, “take me with you. Or send a message back telling me to come. Don’t do something like that on your own.”

“I wasn’t alone, you know,” she told him, still slightly slurring her words. “I had Bull and Dorian and Sera with me. None of them would’ve lemme get hurt.”

“None of them are in love with you,” he pointed out.

“Thank the Creators!” she laughed.

Aili dug her fingers into his tunic before continuing. “There was something about bringing it down, though: something so wild and strong, all that raw power. It was a little sad, but…there was this _rush_ …a big sort of ’ _woosh_ ’ in my chest afterwards. My magic was singing in my veins like I could do…anything. I felt as if _I_ was a force of nature. Like a storm had come to conquer me, and I had turned around and conquered it right back. I was so fiercely alive. I was invincible…” Her eyes locked with his, their bright purple hue gleaming slightly in the dim lighting of his study.

“And Dread Wolf take me, but I _wanted_ you.”

“Is that so?” The words rumbled from deep in his chest as his hands slid to her hips, gripping them tightly, trying to pull her impossibly closer. He nipped at the smooth tan skin of her throat, growling quietly when she began to roll against him again.

“I wasn’t the only one with their blood pumping,” she chuckled throatily. “I could barely get any sleep with all the noise Bull and Dorian were making.”

Solas drew back from her, closing his eyes and heaving a sigh of immense suffering. His face soured into an expression of extreme disgust.

“Is this your idea of a seduction?” he asked, arching a brow.

“That depends,” Aili grinned at him toothily. “Is it working?” She slid her hand between them, dragging her fingers over the bulge in his trousers. He hissed and his hips bucked into her hand of their own accord. “Ah, I see that it is.”

“You-ah!” He panted raggedly as she began messaging him through his pants with firm deft fingers. “You are _drunk_.”

“And you’re _sexy_.” Aili countered, cupping his face in her hands and smiling at him widely. She ran her thumbs over his cheekbones before pulling him in for a deep, claiming kiss. When she drew away, he was breathless and dizzy with the taste of her.

“I believe you made a comment about wanting to dominate my indomitable will when we first met,” she commented with a hint of smugness at the dazed look in his eyes. “Care to give it a try?” She kissed him again. “Or is a dragon slayer too much for you to handle?”

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, hunger blazing in his blue eyes and a smirk creeping across his face.

“It might be,” she said mischievously. “As you said, I’ve had a bit to drink, so you might even win.”

Solas kissed her hard, a feral smile still on his lips. She moaned into his mouth, but did not surrender to him. They were biting, nipping, nuzzling, tearing at each other in a mutual frenzy of desire.

He tugged the top half of her shirt open harshly in a mission to free her breasts, ruining a few of the delicate clasps. Aili yanked at the high collar of his tunic, frustrated when she couldn’t reach more of his skin. She let out a sharp gasping growl when he pushed her breast band up and began kneading her chest, the pressure hard enough to dance along the fringes of pain. She bit his neck in harsh retaliation, breaking the skin a little, making him snarl.

His right hand abandoned its task in favor of raking down her back and she arched her spine like a bow drawn taught. He slid his hand down into the back of her pants, giving her well-toned backside a firm squeeze before reaching the damp slit of her entrance. She cantered her hips back towards his hand, wordlessly trying to convince him to touch her, but all he granted her was soft teasing strokes. She glared at him for a moment, her hips still fruitlessly thrusting back against his hand, desperately seeking friction. She would not beg, however.

Instead, her hands flew to his groin, scrabbling to unlace the ties and remove the cloth that kept him from her. He groaned despite himself when she finally freed his erection from its linen prison, and again when she began pumping him slowly with one slender hand.

Now they had reached an impasse, neither one wanting to admit defeat, but both yearning to take that final step, to be joined completely. Eventually, after what seemed like ages of frustratingly light touching, Aili slid from his lap. She stumbled, weak in the knees and still somewhat drunk and knocked into his desk.

“W-we should…” she managed to rasp out between heaving breaths, “We should go to my room or-”

Solas cut her off as he rose from his chair and seized her in a rough embrace, kissing her hard enough to bruise. Aili groaned and melted into his touch as he all but tore her trousers down her legs so that they bunched around the tops of her boots. He pushed her back against his desk, showering the floor with heaps of books and carefully organized notes as she leaned backward onto her elbows. He ground himself against her, but no more. She me his gaze, dark and predatory, but still controlled, still waiting for her to break.

“Tell me you want me,” he demanded hoarsely. Aili knew it was part of the game they were playing, but there was something cruel about it, some sort of fleeting pain behind those words. It was as though he thought she might be capable of _not_ wanting this, of not wanting _him_.

“I’ll always want you, Ma sa'lath,” she told him quietly. Solas jerked back a little in surprise, apparently not expecting her to forget her role so easily. Her smile turned impish as she added, “So, you should reward me for my devotion.”

Solas grinned down at her wolfishly, sealing her mouth with a searing kiss, sheathing himself in her to the hilt with one smooth stroke. They both cried out at the sensation, both so far gone on each other that almost anything would have sent them both toppling over the edge.

Solas stilled himself for a moment, focusing on the dull pain of Aili’s fingers digging sharply his hips instead of the warm silken heat of her sex clenching around his cock. He looked down at his lover, her eyes screwed shut, her lithe figure a supple line of tension. She brought her knees up and tried to grip his thighs with them. After a few more moments she tugged at his shirt and croaked the word, _‘move’_.

After that it was almost mindless. He braced himself with one hand on the far side of the desk, the other clenched tightly on her hip, trying and failing to keep an even rhythm as he continued to push himself in and out of her. He lost himself in her, in this moment, and she clung to him as if he was her last link to any kind of sanity. She moved to meet every snap of his hips as best she could, though the rough wood of the desk chaffed against her skin even through her shirt.

She needed this, needed him. Because, despite everything, they were alive and together and _here_. And killing the dragon in Crestwood had reminded her just how unlikely any of those things were. She hadn’t told him how the beast had managed to sideswipe her with its tail and almost smashed her brains out against a rock, or how it had nearly stepped on Dorian, or how it _had_ stepped on Bull, and how Sera was more or less a walking bruise. It didn’t matter. They were alive, and the dragon was not. And she desperately wanted someone to prove it to her.

Solas brought his fingers down to where they were joined and began rubbing at her clit in quick circular strokes, and Aili screamed as she came undone, startling several sleeping crows. His end was quieter, the deep groan lost in her mouth as she kissed him senseless, his muscles seizing as he spilled himself inside her.

Her limbs flopped bonelessly onto his desk, scattering what few scraps of his research had survived the initial onslaught. Solas lay on top of her heavily, trying to collect himself, breathing in the scent of her damp hair, lavender mixed with sweat. He eyed the ruins of his desk and winced.

He couldn’t believe they had done this here. Despite the late hour, someone could have walked in at any given moment. He groaned, so much for discretion. Aili was incorrigible, and alluring, and as close to driving him mad as anyone had managed in over a thousand years. He shifted to his elbows in order to tell her as much, and discovered that she was completely passed out. Solas attempted to gently shake her awake, but was only answered by Aili’s gentle snores.

Eventually he gave up, heaving a defeated sigh as he went about trying to right both of their clothing. There was no saving her shirt. He gathered her into his arms and carried her to her room, hoping that he wouldn’t run into anyone and not envying the headache he was sure she was going to have the next day. Halfway through the Great Hall, she turned her face into him, grabbing onto a handful of his tunic and smiling in her sleep. He felt his heartbeat skip a pace and grinned despite himself. Impressive as it was to bring down a high dragon, he doubted there was anyone else in this age who could claim to have so thoroughly vanquished an ancient elven god.


	19. Tel'abelas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fancy party turns sour. Then sweet. Then Awkward. NSFWish

Aili was furiously pacing the length of the sizable chamber which served as Skyhold’s cellar when Solas finally found her. She was dressed in a heavy velvet gown the color of midnight, a hundred tiny opals sewn into the skirt and bodice mimicking real constellations found in the heavens, her pale hair scraped back from her face in an intricate weave of braids and curls. She looked beautiful, even as she made violent gestures with her hands and stomped around the room, a flood of Elvhen curses pouring from her mouth in an impassioned torrent.

“I see your temper has not yet cooled,” he noted calmly. “You are more proficient at speaking our native tongue than I gave you credit for.”

“Words of love and words of hate are always the last to leave us,” Aili replied bitingly, but he knew her ire was not truly aimed at him. She mumbled something dark and angry under her breath and Solas laughed at her words.

“I doubt Fen’Harel will be making an appearance at this gathering in order to eat an Orlesian courtier’s liver for the sake of my honor,” he chuckled.

“Then what good is he?!” she snarled, throwing her hands up in frustration. “What’s the point of being the only god left if he doesn’t show up every now and then to smite someone who has it coming to them?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Vhenan,” he told her with a hint of that strange sadness that seemed to occasionally flicker across his face. He went to her and took both of her hands in his. “The offense was slight, there is no need for such acrimony.”

“He threw a glass of wine in your _face!_ ” Aili reminded him hotly, glaring up at him with indignation. “Was I supposed to do nothing?”

“You were about to punch him with a fist full of fire,” he pointed out with a slight smirk. “It seemed a bit…drastic.”

“Hmph,” she grunted noncommittally. “It’s not like it would have killed him. If Vivienne is allowed to use magic on boorish nobles at parties, why can’t I?”

“I am not certain the First Enchanter is someone you should look to emulate, Vhenan,” Solas said dryly. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You are far more suited to charming someone with your wit and candor than attempting a game of ruthlessness and daggers.”

She gave a petulant little huff of annoyance, but her mouth curled up into her familiar smile soon afterwards, some of her anger clearly abating at his words.

“You would have been much better at this job than I am,” she told him softly.

“I doubt the human nobles would have taken me any more seriously than they do you,” he told her, one corner of his mouth rising in wry amusement. “In fact, I may have encountered even more resistance. After all, I would not look nearly as ravishing in that dress.”

Aili threw her head back and laughed.

“Aw,” she said with a giggle, patting his cheek consolingly, “I think you’re pretty enough for it, Solas. Would you care to try it on?”

“There is only one reason I would be getting into that dress, Vhenan,” he said in a low voice, bending down to breathe the words against her ear, a smirking in satisfaction when she shuddered. “And that would be to aid in the process of getting _you_ out of it.”

“ _Solas_ ,” his name hitched in the back of her throat as his teeth grazed her earlobe. She brought her hands up to his shoulders, digging her fingers into the fabric of the finely embroidered tunic he had been given for the evening. “W-we can’t do this here. Not now, someone will walk in and- mmmf!”

He stopped her mouth with a fervent kiss, twining his arms around her and pulling her flush against him. He would not carry this game too far while there was still work to be done, but he rather liked the idea of her returning to a room full the of leering nobles who had been eyeing her like a piece of meat half the night with her clothes slightly mussed and her head full of him. He was almost certain the subtle hints at their familiarity had been the real reason he had received a face full of merlot, as opposed to his infamous apostasy.

“What the Orlesians do not know cannot injure their inflated egos,” he murmured against her lips, nipping at them playfully. “Much.”

“I can’t belie- ah!” She started, gasping as his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear. “I can’t believe _you’re_ the one talking _me_ into this.”

“I find myself inspired,” he replied with a casual playfulness, smoothing his hands down her sides, enjoying the feel of the rich fabric, squeezing slightly when he came to the swell of her hips.

Aili barely found the breath to chuckle as they stumbled back into a wall, making her grunt into his mouth as she raked her fingers down his back, trying to drag him impossibly closer.

Solas tangled his fingers in the hair at the base of her neck, angling her head back farther, as he pressed a thigh between her legs, wanting to feel her move against him.

Aili cried out in obvious pain.

“Vhenan!” Solas panted in concern, instantly drawing away from her. “What is wrong? What did I-”

“It isn’t you,” she assured him, still breathing heavily, wincing as she touched her right leg gingerly. “An arrow nicked my thigh the other day when we were dealing with some bandits.”

“And you did not simply heal it with magic?” he asked, arching a quizzical brow.

“The arrow was tipped with Magebane,” she explained. “I’ve just got to let the wound heal like a normal person would until the poison works itself out of my system.”

“A group of ordinary bandits just happened to be using Magebane when the Inquisitor was passing by?” Solas asked dubiously.

“Leliana had a similar train of thought,” Aili said with a grim smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he queried, furrowing his brow in displeasure.

“Because I’m perfectly fine?” She huffed, moving a few steps away from him with a heavy limp before stumbling into a wall. “Shit, I think it’s reopened.”

“You are _not_ fine,” Solas informed her, wrapping an arm around her waist and guiding her over to a dusty chair against the far wall. He crouched down at her feet. “Let me see it.”

“What? No!” she sputtered, a deep blush rising in her cheeks as she dug her hands into her skirt protectively. “It’s up under my dress!”

“And yet you were about to let me take you against a wall a moment ago,” he pointed out with a smug looking grin.

“Well, consider _that_ offer expired,” she grumbled crossly, folding her arms across her chest. “Fine. But you won’t be able to do anything. Dorian already looked at it and-”

“You asked Dorian for assistance instead of me?” He snorted in indignation.

“Only because he was _there_ ,” she insisted. He gave a disbelieving hum in reply.

Solas ran has hands up the outside her calves slowly, pulling up the skirt of her dress. At first he was merely trying to be careful of rumpling her finery, but then he noted the way her eyes were fixed on him, breathing heavily through her nose and gripping the sides of the chair tight enough to whiten her knuckles. He flashed her a wolfish grin.

“Expecting something, Vhenan?” He asked innocently, running a warm hand over her knee, reveling in the faint ripple of lean muscle the touch produced as she squirmed in her seat.

“N-no,” she stammered, her eyes darting away from him, biting her lip.

He gave a low chuckle, nuzzling against her knee, trailing lazy kisses up the soft skin of her inner thigh. Aili let out a strangled whimper.

“I suspect you are being less than truthful with me right now,” he noted placidly, as he pushed the gown up around her hips.

Solas found the wound on her upper thigh, a shallow gash, angry and red and bleeding slightly from their former activities. He ran his fingers over it gently, wiping away the blood and sending a pulse of healing magic into her skin. Aili sighed in relief, but the wound did not close. He frowned for a moment before following the path of his fingers with his mouth, concentrating a more powerful surge of magic as he kissed the cut tenderly.

Aili gasped as her hips jerked forward of their own accord, grabbing onto one of his shoulders to steady herself. He glanced up at her with raised brows, surprised at the intensity of her response before smiling wickedly.

He continued to channel his magic through his mouth as his tongue laved languid patterns across her sensitive skin, moving ever higher. Aili fisted both of her hands in the expensive material of his shirt, biting back a plaintive whine. He paused when he reached the junction of her legs, savoring the way her muscles flexed around him as she fought the urge to press her legs together, aching to be touched.

“Are you still down here, Solas?” Dorian’s voice echoed off the stone walls. “ Have you see the- _oh_.”

The Tevniter mage stood stock still, staring at the tangled pair of elves, his gray eyes wide as saucers. Aili all but leapt from her chair with her face burning in utter mortification, knocking Solas backward onto the ground in the process.

“ _Kaffas!_ ” Dorian swore loudly, turning away and covering his face with one hand. “It’s bad enough that I have to witness your awkward little mating rituals in the rotunda without actually having to watch you… _fornicate_.”

“This isn’t what it looks like!” Aili protested, knotting her fingers together in dismay. “Solas was helping me treat my wound.”

“Yes, well I think that sort of treatment might be best applied in your own quarters, on your own bed, and with less expensive clothing on…or perhaps with no clothing on,” the human suggested tartly. “At any rate, someplace I’m not likely to walk in on you.”

“But we weren’t-” she tried again. Dorian waved a hand to silence her.

“Never mind what you ‘weren’t’,” he said dismissively, “Josephine asked me to find you and you are found. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a sudden urge to drink brandy until the image of what I just witnessed has been completely expunged from my mind.”

Without so much as a backwards glance, the mage proceeded to walk off in a huff, muttering darkly about lovesick fools who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

“You know, the next time he and Bull are going at it in the tent next door, I vote we open up the tent flaps and throw cold water on them,” Aili said sourly, offering Solas a hand to rise.

“That would, of course, involve us seeing them naked,” Solas reminded her, brushing the dirt from his pants.

“Ugh,” Aili replied with an expression of extreme disgust. “I see your point.”

Solas reached over an took her hand.

“I apologize for causing you embarrassment, ” he said with a slight grimace. “It was ill considered and-”

Aili raised a hand to halt him.

“Tel'abelas,” she said with a smirk. “I did little enough to dissuade you. Though…you could make it up to me later, if your interested.”

“Oh?” he said in a tone of pleased surprise.

Her only answer was a wide smile before she gave him a peck on the cheek and sashayed back towards the doorway that led back up to the Great Hall.

“You’ll have to _really_ work at it if you want me to believe your apology is sincere though!” She called back to him, tossing him a wink over her shoulder.

Solas laughed, “Ma nuvenin.”


End file.
